


Lilacs Out of the Dead Land

by shadow_djinni



Series: These Fragments I Have Shored Against My Ruins [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Galra Big Bang, Gratuitous Use of T S Eliot's The Waste Land, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Open Relationships, Other, Political Intrigue, Technically Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_djinni/pseuds/shadow_djinni
Summary: What are the roots that clutch, what branches growOut of this stony rubbish? Son of man,You cannot say, or guess, for you know onlyA heap of broken images, where the sun beats,And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,And the dry stone no sound of water. OnlyThere is shadow under this red rock,(Come in under the shadow of this red rock)And I will show you something different from eitherYour shadow at morning striding behind youOr your shadow at evening rising to meet you…--T S Eliot,  The Waste LandFresh off a campaign that cost him his arm and nearly claimed his life, Sendak hopes his new position as Zarkon’s apprentice will be a reprieve from the battlefield--but the court is merely a battlefield of a different kind, one he cannot hope to navigate.Into the fray comes Zarkon’s prodigal son, Prince Lotor, with whom Sendak immediately throws sparks--which quickly become an inferno.  But as the attraction between them grows, so too does the danger; and when one’s eyes cannot tell friend from foe, is it wiser to trust the head or the heart?





	1. The Burial of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> _\--Yet when we came back, late, from the_  
Hyacinth garden,  
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not  
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither  
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing…  
\--T S Eliot, The Waste Land

“Again,” Zarkon commanded.

Sendak took a deep, ragged breath, and rose from his crouch. His calves ached and burned from exertion, and he gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly in stiffened hands, trying to ignore the tremor in his right arm. The blade felt leaden in his grasp, a far cry from the extension of his arm it had been when he’d begun dancing nearly two vargas before. His exhaustion dragged the curved tip towards the floor. He took another deep breath, steadier, and pulled himself back to his full height, shoulders squared and chest raised as he returned to his starting position. Then he glanced sidelong at Zarkon and nodded, signalling his readiness.

Zarkon nodded in acknowledgement, still studying him from under hooded eyelids. His gaze was transfixing as ever--Sendak felt, often, like he’d been impaled under that deep violet stare, held and measured against some unknowable standard.

At times like this, he thought, Zarkon must find him lacking.

“Proceed,” Zarkon said. He ran a finger over a panel on the back of his left bracer, and the opening bars of the Breath of Fire movement began. Low, deep drumbeats echoed off the walls of the training deck, accompanied by frantic strings.

Sendak held himself still for two beats--three--four--and leapt forward as the strings stung again, whirling the blade overhead. He landed neatly, right foot planted, and spun through the step, his sword brought to bear against an imagined opponent.

There was no time to hold the landing. His left foot came down, harder than it should have, and he spun through the step and into the next form. And the next form, and the next, blocking and parrying, his feet pounding the floor in time with the drums. He gave ground, took ground, leaping and spinning, the blade whirling about him in great flourishes as the world shrank to the space in front of him, to his sword and the flashing forms of his imagined dance partner. The tempo changed. He upped his pace, his feet mirroring the steps his partner’s would take, letting the frenetic drumbeat take him.

His left knee gave out on his next landing. Sendak tucked his head, hitching his shoulder up to absorb the blow and released his grip on his sword to keep from falling on it. There was no time to turn his stumble into a controlled roll. Pain spiked up his left shoulder, sparking across his collarbone and brow as his head struck the floor. If his teeth hadn’t been clenched tight already, he’d have bitten through his tongue. He rolled once, twice, three times, coming to rest face-down against the cool metal floor, and lay there a minute, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

At least he’d landed on his prosthetic arm, he thought. The armored shoulder casing had dispersed most of the force of impact down his forearm, but not even clever engineering could mitigate a direct landing like that, and the flesh-and-blood joint beneath had already begun to ache.

A hand landed on his right shoulder, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled upright--face to face with Zarkon. The Emperor’s ponderous brow was creased, under the shadow of his helm, and Sendak flattened his ears and glanced aside, avoiding his gaze. His throat had gone tight with shame. Zarkon didn’t allow him the comfort of looking away for very long, though. His other hand cupped Sendak’s chin and turned him back to face his Emperor.

“Have you been injured?” Zarkon asked. His tone had gone soft, almost gentle, and now that Sendak was looking, the skin around his eyes had creased with concern, rather than irritation.

It was hard to tell, sometimes, even twelve movements into his apprenticeship, and Sendak still wanted to kick himself for it. A full fifth of a cycle spent at his mentor’s side at nearly every waking moment, learning the history and economics of the Empire, studying strategy and beginning to grasp at politics, and preparing to resume his combat training by building his stamina with dance, and he still struggled to read Zarkon’s expressions. It was shameful, really.

He let his shoulders relax, regardless, and pricked his ears up again. “I’m alright, sir,” he replied. “I misjudged my landing, nothing more. It will not happen next time, sir.”

“No,” Zarkon agreed, and released his grip on Sendak’s chin, then stood. “You will take half a varga to rest, and run the dance again from the beginning.”

“Yes, sir,” Sendak said gratefully. “Thank you.”

Zarkon hummed in response, acknowledging him wordlessly, and stepped back to allow Sendak space to stand. His head turned towards the door to the training deck as if he’d heard something, but much as Sendak strained his ears, he missed whatever cue Zarkon had caught. Then again, Zarkon often seemed to notice things Sendak didn’t, natural and unnatural alike.

He could only hope it wasn’t the Witch this time.

Sendak sighed and heaved himself upright, swaying on unsteady legs, and cast about for his sword. It had gone farther than he expected, when he finally spotted it--halfway across the training deck, the tip pointed towards him--and Sendak winced and hurried to retrieve it. He took a moment to inspect the edge for damage, sighing quietly with relief when nothing proved chipped or warped. Restoring the edge would have stolen half his precious rest, and so close to the end of the cycle, with the festivities looming only a few quintants away, Zarkon had been pushing harder than ever during his dance practices to ensure his performance was flawless. It had to be, with him in the lead role. One misstep and the whole movement would be ruined. 

He resheathed the blade and made his way back to the bench at the wall, then set it aside and bent forward at the waist, stretching his back, then his arms and legs. He’d made the mistake of letting himself get stiff on breaks before, and he’d regretted it. Then he settled back on the bench and tipped his head back, closing his eyes and taking a moment to catch his breath properly and relax.

He nearly kept his eyes closed when the door hissed open a tick or two later. Zarkon had tried to reduce interruptions during their training sessions, but his commanders often sent lower-ranking soldiers if they needed the Emperor’s attention and couldn’t come themselves--but then, soldiers also usually made more noise while walking, and the sound of weighty bootsteps was unsettlingly absent. Sendak sat himself upright and opened his eyes, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

The Witch had entered the training deck.

The Witch _ never _ entered the training deck. Interrupted other lessons, yes, or met them at the door to call Zarkon--or worse, him--away to some other task. But never the training deck. He shrank back, shooting Zarkon an anxious look, but Zarkon was already striding forward to greet her.

“Haggar,” he said smoothly, coming to a stop a pace or two in front of her.

“My lord,” she replied. “Lotor’s ship has docked with Central Command.”

Her head tilted back to look up at Zarkon, and Sendak caught a flash of burning yellow eyes that iced his blood all the way across the room. He bit his lip to keep quiet, trying not to draw her gaze. That predatory stare told him she’d gladly take him apart, given the free rein to take more than just his arm, and he didn’t want her to linger on him longer than necessary lest she decide Zarkon’s orders didn’t matter.

Zarkon hummed, and Sendak turned his attention to him, watching as Zarkon squared his shoulders. “Have him sent to the throne room. We shall discuss the terms of his stay when he arrives.”

“As you wish, sire,” the Witch said. She inclined her head and turned, gliding out of the training deck and taking the chill with her. 

Sendak sighed quietly in relief and let his shoulders slump. He was quaking, he noticed, and grabbed the bench, breathing deeply and trying to temper his anxiety. The Witch was gone. He was alright. He lifted his head and tried to straighten, and met Zarkon’s gaze. He sat up immediately, trying to feign nonchalance, though he knew Zarkon wouldn’t be fooled.

“Are you well enough to accompany me to an audience?” Zarkon asked.

Sendak hesitated a moment, ears twitching thoughtfully. “...Yes, sir, I believe I am.” His shoulder had settled to a dull, throbbing ache, but he felt clearer-headed and less wobbly overall for the short break than he had before, even with the Witch’s intrusion.

Zarkon nodded, then turned back towards the door. “Then accompany me,” he said.

Sendak hurried to catch up to him, settling into his usual place at Zarkon’s side as they crossed the threshold, and the Emperor shot him a sidelong, almost sly glance.

“...And perhaps straighten yourself, Sendak,” he added wryly. “Rumpled fur is unsuited to an audience.”

Sendak flushed with embarrassment and looked sidelong at his reflection in Zarkon’s armor, scowling and raking his fingers through the longer fur at his jaw and ruff to get it back in order. Zarkon was right--messy fur would only make him look misplaced in the throne room, and just coming from the training deck wasn’t an excuse to make his Emperor look bad. He finished his grooming and hurried to catch up. The Emperor’s longer stride kept him nearly at a trot, struggling to both keep up and avoid looking like he was struggling at the same time.

He couldn’t help glancing up at Zarkon intermittently as they walked, though, frowning pensively. Something was nagging at him. The name the Witch had said, _ Lotor _\--it was naggingly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. There must have been a report at some point, a campaign, but he couldn’t recall the details from the hundreds of others Zarkon had let him read.

“...Sir? May I ask a question?” he asked, looking up from the corridor to Zarkon’s face.

Zarkon’s ear twitched, letting Sendak know he had his attention though he didn’t divert his gaze. “You may.”

“...Who is Lotor, again?” he began, then added hastily, “I know I’ve been told before, but I can’t remember and I don’t want to make a fool of myself during his audience.”

Zarkon grimaced--a brief flash of fangs, there and gone again almost immediately. “Lotor,” he said, his tone layered with frustration, “is my prodigal son. I have suspended his exile for the duration of the new cycle celebration, but if he truly wishes to return to the Galra Empire he will have to prove himself capable of respecting my orders.” A pause, and Zarkon glanced at him sidelong, the plate-scales at the back of his neck lifting and flaring. “...It is in your best interest if you avoid him. He has been hostile towards my apprentices before, and I do not want to see you come to harm at his hands.”

“...I’ll be careful, sir,” Sendak said quietly, meeting Zarkon’s gaze. 

The Emperor nodded his approval, and Sendak turned his eyes forward just as they reached the doors to the throne room. He took his place beside the throne, arms folded neatly behind his back and chest up, posture straight and erect, doing his best to keep his brow from furrowing too much and giving away his muddled thoughts. He’d known Zarkon had a child already, the incessant court rumors had mentioned him a time or two--mostly in reference to Sendak serving as his replacement, as a ‘proper’ heir to the Galra Empire. Add Zarkon’s warning to that, and...what could Lotor possibly be like, that he caused such consternation in the court, and such concern in his usually unflappable mentor? Sendak shook his head to clear it and took a deep, steadying breath, shifting his stance to redistribute his weight more easily and recrossing his arms to take the pressure off his remnant limb, and looked over at Zarkon for reassurance.

The sidelong glance Zarkon shot him was distinctly approving, and Sendak felt his chest warm with pride. Then the doors hissed, and Sendak quickly returned his gaze to the front and schooled his expression.

It proved to only be Haggar. The Witch glided soundlessly across the floor to the foot of the throne. Sendak took a deep breath and held firm to keep his ruff from rising anxiously as she nodded respectfully to Zarkon and ascended the dais to stand at Zarkon’s other side. He shot Zarkon another look, hoping for reassurance, but the Emperor’s gaze was fixed on the doors. Sendak copied him immediately, unsure if it made him more or less nervous to have the Witch out of his peripheral vision.

The doors hissed open again, the person who’d entered striding quickly towards the throne, and Sendak took a moment to assess them.

His first impression was height, or, rather, lack thereof. The newcomer would stand well below his shoulder if they stood level, but their posture was firm and made them seem larger than they were. A thick shock of white hair--yes, hair, not a grown-out crest like his first glance had suggested--fell to their mid-back, and that and the lack of height and the transparent quality of their second eyelid, leaving their irises visible, told him they had to be mixed, half-Galra, likely as not. And then the pieces fell into place. 

This _ had _ to be Lotor. It could be no one else--and it made so much sense, now, why the court thought him a bad heir. Sendak _ knew _ what powerful clan heads thought of anyone less than full-blooded Galra. They would never have approved of a half-Galra, even one of Zarkon’s lineage, anywhere near the throne. Lotor didn’t _ look _ terribly threatening, small and slight as he was, but something about his steady, piercing stare said underestimating him would be a fatal mistake. 

Still--why invite Lotor back to Central Command, if he was so dangerous?

Lotor stopped several strides from the foot of the dais and knelt, bowing his head respectfully. “Father,” he said, and Sendak couldn’t help the way his ears twitched forward to listen. Lotor’s voice was quiet but carried well, lower than Sendak had anticipated from his slight frame, with a light and unidentifiable accent. “I am most grateful to you for inviting me to Central Command for the turn of the cycle. It is an honor to be returned to society for this celebration.”

“An honor it is indeed, and I expect you to treat it as such,” Zarkon rumbled. “If you prove yourself capable of conducting yourself as a prince _ should _, it will be extended into the new cycle.”

“I thank you--” Lotor began.

“_ However _ ,” Zarkon said sharply, “there will be conditions. You will _ behave _ yourself. You will not disgrace my line in front of my commanders or my court. You will be courteous to my apprentice--” Lotor looked up at that, his dark irises darting towards Sendak. “--and you _ will not _ interfere with his training. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Lotor said, lowering his head, but Sendak could tell those dark eyes were still on him. “I understand.”

“Good,” Zarkon said. “You are dismissed.”

Lotor rose, inclining his head again, and, with a final glance at Sendak, turned and left the room. Some of the tension eased, and Sendak glanced back at Zarkon to find him and the witch sharing an indecipherable look.

“Monitor him as you see fit,” Zarkon said calmly, then rose from the throne. “Sendak, you may go. I believe you have studies to attend to.”

Sendak nodded. “The fifth and sixth chapters of the Historia. Will I be required to return to the training deck today, sir?”

“No,” Zarkon replied. “I expect you in my study this evening, to discuss your readings, but that aside I grant you the rest of the day to do with as you please.”

Sendak couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face, and he covered it with a quick bow, grinning down at the floor. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and turned quickly towards the door, all but bounding through it and out into the main halls. 

He wove around a trio of lower-ranked corporals, dodged a cluster of harried-looking foot soldiers, narrowly avoided cannoning into someone in a general’s uniform--it might have been Raht, he was moving too quickly to really tell, hurrying for the elevators to the royal apartments. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Zarkon had him installed there--if he had to guess, it had to do with his arrival in Central Command, with how long he’d lingered at death’s threshold after they’d amputated his arm before finally pulling through. It still surprised him, almost a fifth of a cycle later, that _ anyone _ , much less the _ Emperor _, valued his life so much.

He resisted the urge to bounce in place while waiting for the elevator. Not being at Zarkon’s side in public didn’t excuse a lack of decorum, nor did it mean there weren’t eyes on him. It had taken him far too long to realize that, at the beginning, but a quick glance around showed the watchers clearly--a pair of low-ranked soldiers, presumably on break, pretending not to watch him from one of the walls, and an unfamiliar person in the robes of a clan head blatantly ogling him from one of the doorways. He pretended not to notice. Watching the watchers only meant they reported more quickly back to whoever employed them--and rumors spread more quickly through the court.

It unnerved him, really, how many people had their eyes on him. Nevermind how many watchers were out there that he _ couldn’t _ see.

The elevator arrived and he ducked in as quickly as he could, forcibly shutting the doors so nobody could follow him in and corner him and bouncing in place to disperse the nervous energy that had built up during the wait, fixing his gaze on the control panel. He itched under the collar of his uniform--his fur must be getting too long again, rubbing and tangling against the material every time he moved. Grooming himself would be a nuisance that evening, that was almost certain. At least by letting him have the afternoon off Zarkon had given him an excuse to get _ out _ of uniform and into civilian clothes, which would mitigate the worst of the tangles, but he would still need to schedule a trim at some point. Hopefully he could persuade Zarkon to let him put it off until after the new cycle and keep his fur longer for the big celebration, instead of cropping it all short again...

The doors reopened, letting him out onto the floor, and he took a moment to scan the common room despite knowing no one else would be there. Zarkon would continue to attend to duties for most of the day, and he tended to retire to his rooms or his study in the evenings rather than lingering in the common spaces. And, though the Imperial apartments had clearly been designed for several more people, he and Zarkon were the only ones living there.

Which, of course, meant Sendak got the common room to himself for the afternoon. He ducked back into his quarters, shedding his armor and uniform almost immediately and stowing them away by habit born of long practice, then slid open the closet and grabbed the first thing in reach--a loose-fitting shirt and a skirt he’d picked for the sleekness of the material, to keep from snagging on his fur--and pulled both on, then nabbed his holopad from the floor where he’d left it the previous evening. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he reached up and uncoupled his prosthetic from his shoulder and set it down on the bed, running his fingers over the joint. The spot he’d landed on was probably bruised, judging by how tender it felt when touched, and the joint itself ached, but the rough landing hadn’t torn open his still-healing scar tissue or damaged the ports set into the end of the stump that connected his prosthetic to his nervous system. That was something, at least.

He left it off when he went back into the common room--better to let his shoulder rest than continue to strain it under the weight of his prosthetic--and tucked himself into one of the low couches, resting on his right side and turning the holopad on. The small, fine type of the Historia was still open--he’d finished the fourth chapter, on the early explorations of the spacefaring Empire, the previous evening. It was a little later than he should have, but Zarkon had given him a pass on it. Apparently, in the Emperor’s eyes, traditional sword dance practice counted in place of a history lesson, and Sendak wasn’t about to contradict him on it.

He was halfway through the chapter when the elevator door hissed open. Sendak glanced sidelong at the door, not wanting to turn his head all the way to get a good look with his remaining eye.

“You’re back early, sir,” he said absentmindedly.

“--_ Excuse _ you?” someone who was distinctly _ not _ Zarkon answered.

Sendak nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun towards the door immediately, fur fluffing up with surprise and embarrassment when he recognized Lotor in the doorway. The prince’s eyes were wide--startled, he thought--and fixed clearly on him, one hand sneaking towards something at his side just out of Sendak’s line of sight.

“Ah--sorry, I couldn’t see you. I thought you were Zarkon,” Sendak said, setting his holopad down and indicating his missing eye, hoping it would distract from the embarrassed blush spreading over his cheekbones.

“........I didn’t expect to find anyone in the _ royal apartments _,” Lotor replied, his tone hard on the last two words. Sendak immediately wanted to shrink into the couch. “Least of all my father’s apprentice.”

“........I wasn’t exactly given a choice about my living arrangements,” Sendak said, unable to resist the impulse to snap back.

“Oh, I didn’t expect you were. I simply didn’t anticipate him wanting to keep you quite so close. He’s never kept an apprentice in the royal apartments before,” Lotor said. 

He moved out of the doorway at last, and Sendak took a moment to study him. Lotor was taller than he’d first thought, though not by much, and up close his eyes were lighter than they’d seemed from a distance, though he still couldn’t tell if they were purple or blue. He was _ striking _, Sendak decided as Lotor settled onto one of the other couches, not attractive but certainly unusual, and not unpleasant to look at. He still didn’t look like much, though, and Sendak resisted the urge to get up and look at him more closely, to see if he could find what made Zarkon so worried about what Lotor might do.

Zarkon wouldn’t be pleased, if he knew Sendak was disobeying his orders.

“Oh?” he asked, tilting his head. “And where does he usually keep them? The barracks, like everyone else? The officers’ wing?”

“It’s been a _ very _ long time since I was last in Central Command while he had an apprentice,” Lotor said, rolling his eyes and flicking his hair over his shoulder. “I _ believe _ the last one stayed in the officers’ wing, but then, his last apprentice was an officer, not...whatever you’re supposed to be.”

Sendak scowled intently at him, ears flattening. He hadn’t taken Lotor for a gossip-monger at first glance, but looks often deceived. His stomach did a slow, queasy roll.

“‘Whatever I’m supposed to be’?” he snapped. “Do elaborate, because if you’re referring to the court rumors, there’s not a grain of truth in there. It’s lies and slander from stem to stern.”

“I’d _ assumed _ the ones about your not being Galra were falsehoods, and it seemed vanishingly unlikely that the Witch revived you from death, no matter how useful you may be.” Lotor lounged back on the couch, his posture lax, but his eyes were keenly focused. “...And as _ amusing _ as I find the rumor that my father took some pretty young thing to warm his bed, it is perhaps _ less _ probable than the witch reviving you.”

Sendak rolled his eye and scoffed. “Please. I’m not pretty enough for anyone to take to bed on that basis alone, much less the _ Emperor _.”

“There are _ many _ who would contest that, I’m sure,” Lotor said, raking his eyes over Sendak. Sendak did his best not to tense in response, fighting back the impulse to run for his quarters and throw his armor back on. “What they’re _ really _ saying, anyway, is that he’s your blood-father. That he left your birthparent all on their own, and only _ bothered _ to claim you when you’d proven yourself on the battlefield like a worthy soldier.”

Sendak froze. Lotor was still smiling, but now the faint hint of fang seemed threatening rather than charming, and his gaze was too keenly focused to be casual. His ears flattened, and he narrowed his eye in response, studying the prince skeptically.

“He’s not my blood-father,” Sendak said flatly.

“Everyone in the court seems to think he is.”

“He _ isn’t _ . I don’t know why anyone thinks he is--I don’t look _ anything _ like him.”

“Ah, yes, because I’m the spitting image of my father,” Lotor said dryly.

Sendak scowled back at him. “I _ assumed _ you took after your other parent, but I was trying to be _ polite _ and not drag it up to throw in your face.”

Lotor rolled his eyes, slouching further into the couch and twirling a strand of hair around one index finger. “Yes, because taking more strongly after one parent or the other so _ rarely _ happens in full-blooded Galra that you’re all _ perfectly _ even mixes of your parents. My mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” Sendak huffed, flattening his ears further.

“Thank you for proving my point,” Lotor retorted.

Sendak scowled and lifted his holopad again, trying to block his view of Lotor. “Why ask _ me _ about this, anyway? He would know if he were my blood-father, it stands to reason you should be asking _ him _.”

“Zarkon and I,” Lotor said, upper lip curling disdainfully, “are _ not _ on good enough terms for me to simply ask him if his latest pet project is also his unclaimed get.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “But if you’re _ not _ his offspring, then why would he let you run around with _ our _ clan name plastered all over your records?”

Ice-cold fear trailed down Sendak’s spine. The reddish glow of the holopad cast Lotor’s sharp features sharper, his eyes fairly glowing through the lines of text and pinning him in place.

His clan name--or, rather, the one on his records--had never featured in the court rumors before.

“That’s not important--” he started.

“That’s _ evidence _ ,” Lotor spat back. “You think you can come in, _ you _ , some no-account soldier from nowhere, and claim _ my _ place in the court?! I’ve seen _ right _ through you, Sendak, and--”

Sendak bolted to his feet, ears flattening, and bared his teeth. “It’s because I’m _ clanless _ , alright?!” he shouted. “You think I _ like _ using the Emperor’s name? I only took _ your father _ up on his offer because it paints a _ smaller _ target than the one I arrived with--you _ know _ what the court would do if they caught even a _ whiff _ of the truth.”

Lotor’s eyes widened with shock, and Sendak took a half-step back, ears lowering. He couldn’t look away--every muscle tensed to fight, to flee, braced for Lotor’s next move. His throat felt tight.

“...Are you satisfied, now?” he asked. His voice broke on the final word.

“I didn’t know,” Lotor replied. 

He stood, and Sendak lurched backward. The backs of his knees collided with the couch behind him and buckled, dropping him back into the cushions like a stone, too petrified to move as Lotor approached. There was no room to move, and just enough air to speak.

“...Now you do,” Sendak said warily.

“I do,” Lotor agreed. “And I’m sorry to have brought it up. It must be a very painful subject for you.” 

His eyes lowered at last, breaking from Sendak’s gaze, heavy lashes shading his cheeks. He was finally close enough for Sendak to tell what color they were--blue-violet, ringed with deeper violet at the edges. They _ were _ lovely, Sendak decided, perhaps the only lovely thing about him. Sendak hesitated, ears twitching nervously.

“...I would be very grateful,” he said, slowly and cautiously, “if you would keep that a secret.”

“Of course,” Lotor replied, looking up again. His expression was thoughtful, analytical, ears tilted towards Sendak, the same weighing and measuring look his father often wore. “You have my word.”

Sendak tilted his head, trying to keep his skepticism off his face. “And can I trust that word?”

Lotor huffed and tilted his head up, a crooked grin crossing his face. “That depends. Do you think you can trust me?”

“Zarkon told me not to.”

“Oh? And you do everything exactly as he orders, like an obedient little soldier?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t still be sitting here and talking to you.”

“Mm, he will _ not _ be pleased to learn that.”

“One secret from the court, and one from Zarkon,” Sendak countered, cocking a brow and tilting his ears challengingly.

Lotor’s grin widened. “Oh, I think I’m going to _ like _ you,” he said.

Sendak frowned, about to ask him what he meant by that, but before he could something beeped. He jumped, and Lotor did the same, lurching back away from him in a hasty shuffle of cloth on armor. A panel on Lotor’s bracer blinked, drawing Sendak’s eye, and Lotor shot him a glance before scooting further away and flicking his holopad open. From his angle, Sendak couldn’t make out the text, so he redirected his attention to Lotor’s face, watching his thin brows arch and angle as he read. He glanced up and met Sendak’s gaze over the screen, then closed it and pushed himself upright.

“Urgent message from one of my generals. I’m afraid I’ll have to handle it,” he said, standing and straightening his uniform skirt. “Shall I see you again later?”

“I expect so,” Sendak said. He hesitated a moment, then set down his holopad and stood as well, extending his hand to Lotor. “It was an honor to meet you.”

Lotor looked down at Sendak’s hand, then back up at his face, brows arched inscrutably, and clasped his forearm with a smile. “And you as well. I look forward to the next time we meet.”

And then he let go, and a moment later he was gone, the elevator door hissing shut behind him as he went. Sendak kept his gaze on the door a moment or two longer, ears alert, listening to the faint and fading hum of the elevator, then sat back down and picked his holopad up again. A quick glance at the chronometer said he had three vargas before Zarkon’s usual return to the royal apartments--plenty of time to finish his chapters, as long as there were no more interruptions--he’d never been a fast reader, and distraction always slowed him down. He hesitated a moment, glancing back at the elevator doors, and stood up, padding back into his rooms. As enticing as the prospect of another encounter with Lotor was, if he didn’t have his readings finished or an appropriate, Lotor-free excuse, Zarkon would skin him alive.

Two hours later, Sendak set the holopad down with a groan and rolled over to bury his face in his pillows. Half a chapter yet to go, but his head ached from the strain of focusing his lone eye on the backlit screen for so long, and from trying to take notes and absorb information. How _ anyone _ could make the settling of the exoplanets that would become the first Galra colonies _ boring _ was beyond him, and yet the authors of the Historia had managed it. He’d remembered _ some _ of the relevant information--dates, important figures, the landing of Emperor Brodar on Feyiv, which meant the establishment of the Order of Archivists and the construction of the grounds of the Kral Zera _ had _ to be in the remaining half-chapter--and yet his attention wandered from the words. Sendak sighed and heaved himself back upright.

If he couldn’t focus, then taking a break and doing something other than the reading would be more useful than beating his head against the words til they gave or his skull did. At least, that was what Haxus had told him, back when he’d tried to wrap his head around some of Haxus’s coding.

Haxus. He was still on the expansion edge, serving as the day-shift manager for the technical staff of a heavy cruiser--an advancement from his position when they’d separated twelve movements ago--with eyes on the role of head technician on one of the planetary bases in that sector. Sendak missed him like he’d miss half his soul. Haxus was brilliant and funny and practically fearless, headstrong and ferociously protective, and Sendak would have given his right arm to have Haxus at his side again. He reached for his holopad again, letting his thumb hover over the message icon. True, Haxus wouldn’t get off-shift for another few hours, but if he left a text....

No. Better to wait until Haxus finished his shift to message him. Haxus had spent a decade declining promotions to keep Sendak by his side, and with his assessment period coming up, Sendak refused to provide him a distraction even if he could afford it. 

They’d argued over it more times than Sendak could recall--himself, adamant that Haxus deserved better than to serve a low-ranks technician’s job for the rest of his career, and Haxus with counter-arguments that left him tangled in his own logic, refusing to leave him behind. These last twelve movements had proven Haxus right on every point he’d made. Even with the loss of his arm setting him back, Sendak had advanced under Zarkon’s tutelage as he never would have on the edge of the Empire. And Haxus had jumped three ranks and was looking to claim more. A decade’s setback had only given him more experience, not delayed his advancement, and at his projections he’d surpass “lost time” within the next cycle. The upper technical ranks had no idea what was about to hit them.

Sendak shut the holopad off and set it back down in the blankets to resist the temptation, then pushed himself to his feet and stretched, slow and languorous. His shoulder twinged, but he gritted his teeth and ignored the ache. It would fade. They all did, eventually. He retrieved his prosthetic from the blankets, hefting it and debating, momentarily, whether or not it was worth the pain to have use of both hands. Then he sighed and set it down, retrieving one of his compression sleeves and sliding that on instead, before making his way back out into the common room. 

The common room was deserted, which was a small mercy, and he took another moment to stretch before flopping shamelessly over the arm of one of the couches and gazing up at the ceiling, counting tiles automatically and letting his mind wander. Some small part of him debated leaving the apartments to wander Central Command, or make his way down to the fighter bays. Zarkon had never expressly forbidden him to take a fighter out, but his expression when Sendak had suggested adding flight practice to his curriculum four movements back had been strongly disapproving. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, though, and if Sendak was careful about it--

The faint hiss of the door opening pulled him back to reality. Heavy boots sounded on the floor, and that and the sudden weight to the air told him Zarkon had arrived--how had he mistaken Lotor’s lighter presence for Zarkon’s before?

“Welcome back, sir,” he said, sitting back up and slinging his legs over the arm of the couch, trying to look less like he’d been lounging a moment before.

Zarkon hummed in reply, arching a brow at him, and Sendak lowered his ears sheepishly. The corner of Zarkon’s mouth quirked upwards in response, clearly amused. “Taking my instructions literally, I see,” he said.

Sendak glanced away, dodging Zarkon’s attempt to catch his eye. “...I did most of my readings earlier, sir,” he said. “I just...can’t seem to keep my focus. It’s been a long quintant, sir.”

Zarkon tilted his head, then crooked a finger at Sendak, and Sendak stood and made his way over. The Emperor took his chin in hand and tilted his head from side to side, inspecting him with a frown. Sendak felt his ears lowering the longer he looked, uncertain, and met Zarkon’s gaze. The Emperor’s brow was soft, contemplative, but it wasn’t quite enough to be reassuring.

“...It has been a long quintant, and they will only grow longer as we approach the end of the cycle,” Zarkon said at last, and lifted his hand to stroke Sendak’s head between his ears. “You should rest, Sendak.”

Sendak leaned up into the touch almost automatically and shut his eye, relishing the weight of Zarkon’s hand atop his head. “......Do you still want to go over my chapters, sir?” he asked, cracking his eye half-open to peer back up at him, his ears twitching.

Zarkon shook his head. “No. The discussion I wished to have demands you finish the chapter, and we shall have it when you are prepared. Go and rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Sendak murmured, and tilted his head ever so slightly. 

Zarkon huffed at him, his tone almost fond, and let his hand slide lower to pet behind one of Sendak’s ears momentarily. Then he pulled his hand back and stepped away, nodding politely at Sendak and turning towards the door to his own quarters. Sendak bowed his head in return and retreated a pace or two, ducking back into his quarters and throwing himself down on the bed with a groan. Zarkon had been right, he _ was _ tired--drained, really; he’d been so averse to conflict since arriving on Central Command that such a brief argument with Lotor had exhausted him.

“Sparring tomorrow, Sen,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Or at least request a partner for dance practice. You’re getting soft, you idiot.”

Such weakness would have cost him dearly, back on the cruiser. Even after things had calmed down, even with Haxus at his side like a second, knife-happy shadow, any indication that he’d gone soft would have painted a target on his back. Competition in the lower ranks was rarely brutal, but the expansion edge had left him with scars that he doubted would fade any time soon, inflicted more by crewmates than by enemies.

No wonder he was so leery and isolated in Central Command.

His holopad beeped, and Sendak rolled over and smacked at the screen, almost dismissing the notification before he recognized Haxus’s comm signature and scrambled to open it instead, rolling over again and resituating the device so the camera had a view of his face and he could see the screen clearly. He couldn’t help beaming when the screen lit up with Haxus’s face, warmth spreading under his sternum at the sight.

_ “Hello, my love,” _ Haxus said, his voice distorted slightly--he must have been on one of his salvaged comms units, the one with the dubious microphone. His ears were held lower than usual, the skin under his eyes bruise-violet with exhaustion, but his eyes brightened when they met Sendak’s.

“Hello, Hax,” Sendak replied, then pressed a kiss to his first two fingers and pressed them to the holopad’s screen. Haxus did the same on the other end.

_ “I was thinking about you earlier, and I had to call,” _ Haxus said.

Sendak smiled. “Funny, I was thinking about you too, my heart,” he said, then hesitated. “...Aren’t you supposed to still be on shift, though?”

Haxus scoffed, ears pinning back and eyes rolling skeptically. _ “This has been the _ slowest _ shift of my entire _ career _ , Sen. You would not believe how bored I’ve been.” _

“Well, you aren’t greasy enough to have started tearing the engine apart to rebuild it, so you must not be _ that _ bored.”

_ “Why do you think I’m comming on shift, hm? You’re the only thing keeping me from disassembling my _ official _ comms unit for the fifth time.” _

“Maybe you should disassemble this one next, your microphone is still a little....” Sendak raised his hand into view of the camera and gestured dismissively. “The audio’s been worse, but it’s not good.”

Haxus groaned and ducked out of frame momentarily. _ “There’s a part I need to get it to work properly that I can’t seem to get hold of out here--the audio-processor chip’s fried and I can’t reconfigure the void-taken thing any more than I already have, so this is the best it’s gonna get,” _ he said, reemerging. He raised his issued comms unit into view. _ “This one is the same model, but my _ stupid _ commander won’t decommission the void-taken things despite them being three decades out of date and the regional commander budgeting to replace them at _ least _ twice over, so I can’t strip it for parts--which is a _ shame _ , because _ this _ one’s microphone works perfectly and new units would vastly improve communications with units in the field. We nearly lost a unit yesterday because their squad leader’s comms went out--void-taken pirates know the frequency these old slag-heaps work on now...” _ He hesitated, then shook his head. _ “I’m rambling again. Sorry, love.” _

“No need to apologize,” Sendak said, grinning wryly. “I’ve missed you rambling. It gets awfully quiet here sometimes.”

_ “Mm, are you still holed up in your quarters like a hermit?” _ Haxus asked, brows arching sharply, and Sendak shrank into the blankets with an abashed grin. Haxus groaned in response. _ “Come _ on _ , Sen, you know you should at least try to get out a little. Do I need to tell you this every time we talk?” _

“I’ve been out,” Sendak muttered defensively.

_ “The training deck and the royal library do _ not _ count as out, my heart.” _

“I’ve been to the gardens this movement,” Sendak huffed. “I think _ that _ counts.”

_ “And have you talked to anyone this week who _ wasn’t _ Zarkon?” _

“Everyone here being either a century older than me, a spy for some faction or another, or both does _ not _ make me more motivated to find someone to socialize with.” Sendak hesitated, remembering Lotor’s sharp face and sharper words, and muttered, “...Nor do I particularly want to disobey my orders…”

Haxus shot him a look at that, ears tilting curiously. _ “What was that about disobeying orders? You, the leader of the biggest mutiny in the last century--” _

“There’s a difference,” Sendak said, cutting him off, “between wanting to save the whole crew from certain death and satisfying my own morbid curiosity about my mentor’s son.”

Haxus _ grinned _ , and Sendak’s stomach lurched in response--he’d said _ far _ too much. _ “The Emperor’s son, hm?” _ he said, raising his brows emphatically. _ “As in, Prince Lotor, the one no one has seen in almost a century. That son.” _

“That’s the one,” Sendak muttered. “He’s rude, anyway. Not worth going against orders for.”

_ “.......What did he say?” _ Haxus asked, in a tone that said he wished he’d been there.

“He wanted to know what was going on with me being here, that’s all,” Sendak said. “He was just...unfortunately circumspect and unnecessarily hostile about it, though I don’t think that’s unusual for Central Command.” He hesitated, then cracked a wry grin. “And you wonder why I’m not motivated to socialize.”

Haxus huffed and rolled his eyes again. _ “You don’t need to make excuses for him, my love,” _ he said. _ “I _ do _ wish I could be there for you, though.” _

“I wish you could be here too,” Sendak murmured, touching the screen again. “I miss you, Hax. More than I have words to say.”

_ “I miss you too, Sen,” _ Haxus said softly, pressing his fingers against his own screen where Sendak’s touched, like he was trying to reach through to Sendak’s side. _ “You should ask Emperor Zarkon about shore leave after the new cycle, maybe we can--” _ His ears twitched abruptly, tilting towards something out of the range of the microphone, and he winced. _ “Sorry, love, I have to go. Duty calls. I’ll comm you later.” _

“Be safe, my heart--” Sendak started.

Haxus cut him off. _ “I will. Love you!” _

And then the screen went red as Haxus cut the call. Sendak sighed quietly, his shoulders slumping, and dropped the holopad before faceplanting into the blankets. The room felt colder and emptier than it had even before Haxus called, and he missed the affection in Haxus’s voice and the warmth of his smaller body curled against him, the weight and security of his presence. He reached back behind himself and pulled one of the blankets over his body, wrapping it tightly around himself to try and mimic a hug.

Almost against his will, he considered Lotor again. The prince had been rude, yes, but he was..._ intriguing _ . He still couldn’t figure out what Zarkon considered threatening about him, either--yes, Lotor probably had him beaten on experience alone, but he was _ small _ and couldn’t possibly be strong enough to overpower him, but perhaps with the element of surprise… No. Zarkon had told him to avoid Lotor, and warned Lotor away from him in return. There would be no fighting, not unless they _ wanted _ to risk Zarkon’s fury.

Sendak shivered at the thought. He’d only seen Zarkon furious once, but the icy wrath radiating off him had chilled him to the bone. And that had been fury directed at one of his _ commanders _, not anywhere near Sendak himself.

Perhaps Lotor was better equipped to handle Zarkon’s anger, or he’d had longer to develop a tolerance for it--Lotor wouldn’t have stuck around to interrogate him and risked it if he couldn’t withstand the consequences. That alone had Sendak’s interest--he’d been rude, but eloquent and almost charming despite it, almost flippant about Zarkon catching them--and the way he’d grinned when Sendak challenged him to keep their meeting a secret had sent chills down his spine. And, well...Zarkon’s orders had been for Sendak to avoid Lotor.  
If _Lotor_ came to _him_, well...then he wouldn’t be out of line, now would he?


	2. A Game of Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And other withered stumps of time_  
Were told upon the walls; staring forms  
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.  
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.  
\--T S Eliot, The Waste Land

Sendak peered surreptitiously over the top of his holopad, pretending to read as he scanned the flow of traffic through the atrium. The Vrig Hall was the beating heart of Central Command, the central hub on the crew levels, a vast, octagonal room with doors on all sides and access to three levels above Sendak’s position on the ground floor. It wasn’t quiet by any stretch of the imagination, but it  _ was _ a popular place for members of the lower ranks to meet, and in his sleek black-and-crimson uniform, Sendak passed well enough at first glance to be taken for a lieutenant of a visiting commander.

All told, that made the Hall the ideal place to try and meet Lotor again. Everyone who lived or worked in Central Command passed through at some point; Sendak had crossed the Hall himself on multiple occasions, usually hot on Zarkon’s heels en route to various council meetings. And, at some point, Lotor would pass through, and give Sendak an opportunity to catch his attention. He kept his ears tilted towards his holopad as he scanned the floors above him for a flash of white hair or that distinctive grey and indigo armor, trying to disguise where his gaze was directed to avoid drawing attention.

He glanced back down at his holopad, read a line or two, and tried to refocus his gaze to look through the translucent screen as something hot and anxious thrummed in the pit of his stomach. The fur at his ruff fluffed nervously--what if, by looking down, he’d missed Lotor’s passage? What if Lotor had  _ lied _ about wanting to meet him again, and he’d sat oblivious as the prince walked by without so much as a greeting? He bit his lip nervously, then looked up again.

And met a pair of eyes dead on. 

Fear trailed like ice down Sendak’s spine.

He knew an expansion edge commander when he saw one. He’d spent his entire adulthood serving under them, dodging cold-eyed stares and bracing to be ordered onto the mission that would finally end his life, and the enormous warrior staring at him from across the atrium was the epitome of the type. Massive shoulders broadened further by spiked pauldrons, ears notched from combat, the left eye replaced with a round ocular prosthetic--Sendak didn’t recognize them, but from the way their upper lip curled as they stalked towards him,  _ they _ certainly recognized  _ him _ . He glanced around anxiously, looking for an escape route, for some sort of distraction, but they were on him before he could move, cornering him against the wall behind him.

“ _ You _ must be Zarkon’s little apprentice,” they--no,  _ he _ said, and when Sendak shifted to the right to try and make a run for it, he moved easily to block his escape.

“I think ‘little’ might not be the most apt descriptor,” Sendak retorted. “And you clearly recognize me, but we certainly haven’t been introduced.”

The commander smirked, lip curling to bare fangs. “Warlord Ranveig of Clan Verrat, commander of the Hyallat quadrant,” he said, and proffered his hand. 

His narrowed gaze said Sendak would be foolish to decline the overture. Sendak forced his ruff to lay flat and reached out, clasping Ranveig’s forearm in greeting. The warlord’s returned grip on his arm made him bite back a wince--it felt hard enough to bruise, even through his bracer.

“It’s a  _ pleasure _ ,” Sendak hissed in reply, and pulled his arm free. Ranveig’s grin only widened.

“So what brings the likes of you out among the rank and file?” he asked, and it took everything in Sendak to keep his ears from flattening at his too-casual tone.

“Nothing of any importance,” Sendak said, lifting his chin slightly.

“Slipped your mentor’s leash to get out among your own kind, hm,” Ranveig said.

Sendak flattened his ears. “And what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“The Emperor might have prettied you up enough to fool his  _ court _ , but no fancy uniform can hide the stench of the lower ranks on you,” Ranveig retorted, his eye narrowing further. “And there are those of us who think he made poor choices when he selected his new apprentice.”

Sendak’s ruff rose, prickling against the collar of his uniform. He resisted the urge to curl his lip in response, forcing himself to stone-faced blankness and squaring his shoulders.

“You’ll have to take that up with him yourself,” he said, and looked Ranveig directly in the face. “Now if you’ll excuse me--”

Ranveig slammed his hand against the wall beside Sendak’s head, cutting him off. “ _ Or _ I can take it up with the whelp in question right  _ now _ \--”

“Sendak!  _ There _ you are!”

The hall fell silent. Sendak turned his face as far as he dared towards the source of the voice, and hid a sigh of relief at the sight of Lotor. The crowd parted around him like a knife through silk, soldiers stumbling out of his path. A quartet of warriors stalked behind him, all dressed in his colors--and all mixed Galra, if Sendak guessed right. Lotor was smiling, even as he pushed between Ranveig and Sendak, but the air around him was heavy with the scent of fury. The tallest of the group, a broad-shouldered Galra with fan-shaped ears, forced Ranveig back a few more steps, and Lotor got an arm around Sendak’s waist, tugging him away from the wall enough to move.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Lotor said. His ear twitched towards Sendak, but his eyes were fixed on Ranveig. “Where have you  _ been _ ? We were supposed to spar this morning, weren’t we?”

An opening. Ranveig’s eye had gone wide, his ears twitching--the rest of the group was circling up, and the warlord stepped back another pace to keep from being hemmed in. Sendak leaned into Lotor’s grip.

“Of course. My apologies--I thought you said to meet me here,” Sendak said, and lowered his ears sheepishly.

“You were  _ early _ ,” Lotor huffed. He shot the tallest of his warriors a significant look, then tightened his grip on Sendak’s waist. “Sorry to break up this little  _ chat _ , but I’ve kept Sendak waiting long enough already, and we  _ really _ must be going.”

“Wait just a tick--” Ranveig started.

“You heard him,” the tall one snarled. Her voice was low, and rumbling with fury. “Step  _ off _ .”

And when Ranveig didn’t move, she planted her palm in the center of his chest and shoved.

Ranveig staggered backwards, and Lotor took advantage of the distraction to pull Sendak out of the way and down the hall before the warlord could recover. The smallest of his warriors--a lithe, dark-eyed half-Galra, who stood no taller than Sendak’s sternum--flanked them, and when Sendak glanced behind him, the other two had fallen in behind. Past them, the tallest hauled off and punched Ranveig in the face, sending him staggering. And then they crossed the threshold out of the hall and turned a corner, and Sendak lost sight of them, but not before Ranveig’s roar of fury met his ears.

Lotor upped the pace. His grip on Sendak hadn’t relaxed, either--his fingers dug into Sendak’s side through his undersuit, holding him firmly against his side. Sendak resisted the urge to pull away, especially as the pair of Lotor’s warriors behind them moved up to flank them. Lotor blocked his view of one of them, but the one on the other side of the smallest--a lean, red-skinned warrior--flashed him a smile that only just hid teeth. Sendak flattened his ears and glared at her in return.

“Ooh, Lotor, looks like your new friend doesn’t like us,” she said, her tone sing-song.

“Now, Ezor, play nice,” Lotor chided. His grip relaxed, then tightened again, and Sendak supposed it was supposed to be reassuring. “He’s just had a rather alarming encounter with one of my father’s  _ nastier _ commanders, you can spare a little leniency.”

Sendak hesitated, glancing at him sidelong. “......Are you abducting me?” he asked warily.

Lotor stumbled, and slowed his pace immediately, staring up at Sendak. His brows had creased, a look of concern crossing his face.

“Why, do you want us to?” the red one sneered.

“ _ Ezor _ ,” Lotor snapped. “No, we’re not abducting you, just...avoiding an uncomfortable situation with Warlord Ranveig. Come on.”

He released his grip, then, but Sendak didn’t dare make a break for it. The red one, Ezor, was still leering at him, and the small, dark-eyed one wore a look that said she wasn’t too pleased either--and he was still outnumbered, and unarmed besides. It wouldn’t be futile to run, but it would look bad, worse than fleeing Ranveig would have looked. He kept pace with Lotor, ducking his head to speak with him again.

“So where are we going, then?” he asked.

Lotor glanced around, at the nearly deserted stretch of hallway around them, then reached up and took hold of Sendak’s shoulder to pull him in. “The gardens,” he said quietly. “They’re usually unoccupied at this time of day, and I would like to speak with you without risking unfriendly ears.”

“...Am I allowed to decline your invitation politely?” Sendak asked, just as quietly. “Or will I be declining it with force?”

Lotor laughed at that one, his posture relaxing, and out of the corner of his eye Sendak noticed his soldiers easing their stances as well. “Of  _ course _ you are allowed to decline,” Lotor said, resting a hand on Sendak’s forearm. “It would be impolite of me to force you to come along against your will.”

Sendak hesitated a moment, then shifted his forearm to link it with Lotor’s. “Then I’ll accept,” he said, and relished the look of shock that crossed Lotor’s face.

“Look, if the two of you wanna make eyes at each other in peace, Narti, Axca, and I can go scout ahead,” Ezor huffed.

Sendak glanced at her in confusion--and then back at Lotor, whose cheeks had flushed blue.

“I--that would be for the best,” Lotor said hastily. “You three scout ahead, find us a private corner to speak uninterrupted. Sendak and I can handle ourselves. Send me a message when you’ve confirmed we’re clear.”

Ezor snorted, but sped up with a flippant little wave. The small, dark warrior pushed past him to follow her, jostling his arm and shooting him a look. The last of Lotor’s warriors paused before following, and Sendak’s ruff rose anxiously as she turned her eyeless face towards him. He hadn’t paid much attention to her before--she’d been very quiet--but now that he had a look at her he couldn’t help being unnerved. Lotor squeezed his hand gently, and Sendak startled, glancing down at their hands and realizing he’d shrunk against the prince’s side. He pulled himself away hastily, and when he glanced up the soldier had disappeared.

“It’s alright,” Lotor said quietly, and a moment later he linked his arm through Sendak’s again. “Narti can be a little frightening if you’re unprepared, but she’s nothing to be concerned over. You’re perfectly safe.”

Sendak flattened his ears slightly, shooting Lotor a dubious look. “Somehow, I doubt I’m safer here than I am anywhere else outside the royal apartments.”

“Does that frighten you?” Lotor asked, eyebrows arching.

“I wouldn’t be here if I were frightened,” Sendak retorted.

Lotor chuckled and pulled them to a halt in front of a door, laying his palm on the access panel. Warm, damp air rolled out as the door hissed open, fragrant with the scent of growing things, and Sendak passed Lotor to enter first, breathing in the heady odor. He’d spent so little time planetside--four cycles stationed on a newly conquered world, as his first posting, and after that he’d been shipbound until the campaign that took his arm--but the gardens affected him like no planet ever had. They were full of plants that had been native to Daibazaal, carefully grown and tended for nearly ten millennia, and something about the smell of them made every nerve in Sendak’s body come alive.

He closed his eye a moment, just savoring the air, then opened it again and gazed around. The gardens occupied the largest single room in Central Command, twice as large as the Vrig Hall in both height and width, and every spare inch was full of greenery. Half-tended beds of Daibazaali wildflowers sprawled around them, all the way up to the nearest copse of trees-- _ trees _ , inside a  _ ship _ \--whereupon a row of shrubbery blocked part of the view to the right, and a line of trellises covered in flowering vines offered coy glimpses of another stand of trees beyond it. A figure moved among the branches of the nearer copse, too distant to make out, but he thought by their stature that it might be one of Lotor’s warriors.

“I suppose you wouldn’t be,” Lotor said, drawing his attention again, and linked his arm through Sendak’s again, leading him towards the nearest trees. “You’d have run back to hide in my father’s cape, if you were frightened.”

Sendak scowled and nearly pulled away. “I don’t  _ need _ to hide in  _ anyone’s _ cape, thank you. I’m perfectly capable of smashing skulls myself.”

“Oh? Then why didn’t you smash Ranveig?”

“Ranveig has half a head on me, and probably weighs half again what I do  _ unarmored _ \--and at any rate I was waiting for  _ you _ . Causing a scene or running for it is the opposite of what I wanted to do.”

Lotor’s eyebrows shot for his hairline, and Sendak wondered almost absently whether he ever worried about them simply flying away. “You were waiting for  _ me _ ? You know the court rumors--surely you aren’t  _ foolish _ enough to think you could have just  _ sat _ there and waited for me without causing some sort of--”

Sendak shrugged, shooting Lotor a sly grin. “I’m under orders to avoid you, but if  _ you _ come to  _ me _ I haven’t technically disobeyed Zarkon.”

“And was playing games with Ranveig part of your little plan, then?”

“No, but now I have an excuse,” Sendak said, softening his posture and batting his lashes coyly. “I  _ know _ I shouldn’t have been anywhere near you, I was  _ warned _ , but I couldn’t be expected to leave knowing we’ve likely offended someone’s faction, now could I? Who  _ knows _ what might befall me if I were to leave your side before my mentor comes to my rescue?”

Lotor snorted, his ears flicking. “You  _ really _ think he’s going to fall for that?”

“I think I’ve been skittish enough around his court that he won’t be able to  _ question _ it,” Sendak replied. “Which means I can’t  _ possibly _ get in trouble.”

“I can’t decide if that’s clever, or so foolish it wraps back around to brilliance,” Lotor said.

“Fool _ proof _ , more like.”

“You know, I  _ was _ planning to break back into the royal apartments again. You didn’t need to go to these lengths to meet up with me.”

“And how was  _ I _ to know that, when you neglected to tell me at our first meeting?”

“I ‘neglected’ to tell you because I wasn’t certain you wouldn’t tell Zarkon the moment I left the room,” Lotor huffed. “Our first meeting wasn’t exactly... _ companionable _ \--which I apologize for, by the way. I was unnecessarily rude to you.”

“I’ve had worse. You don’t need to apologize,” Sendak replied, shrugging.

“I wanted to,” Lotor said. “Once I realized you weren’t like his past apprentices, I was afraid I’d ruined any chance at peace between us; I’d judged you too harshly and treated you cruelly as a result. Will you allow me a chance to start over, and right things between us?”

Sendak hesitated a moment, studying Lotor’s expression. “......I see no reason not to.”

Lotor’s eyes widened, and his face lit up in a dazzling smile, one Sendak couldn’t help returning.

They’d reached the first copse by then, and Lotor seemed to relax under the shadow of the trees. His dark eyes darted about, scanning, then glanced sidelong to meet Sendak’s gaze again. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then someone whistled, and the three warriors Lotor had sent ahead emerged from around a corner on the path. The shortest--Axca, Sendak supposed--was scowling. Narti had acquired a companion at some point, an animal, nearly the length of her forearm and dark, with indigo and blaze markings, and as he and Lotor approached it lifted its head to look at them. Ezor still looked amused, one hand on her hip.

“You two must have taken the scenic route,” Ezor said, flashing her fangs in a grin. 

Sendak scowled back at her, ears flattening in irritation, and glanced at Lotor for cues. The prince seemed nonplussed, sauntering forward to join them, and Sendak trailed cautiously after him.

“I suppose we aren’t allowed to enjoy the gardens, then,” Lotor replied. “The olaxi were blooming beautifully, but I suppose you missed that. Has Zethrid checked in yet?”

Narti lifted her hands, gesturing to catch Lotor’s attention. Her signs were quick and flashing, hands darting neatly with no wasted movement, almost too quick for Sendak to catch. “Five doboshes ago. Situation handled. Expecting to be here in five.”

“Excellent,” Lotor said, then turned back to Sendak. “Now, I believe some introductions are in order. You’ve met Narti already; she comes as a pair with Kova.” 

That must have been the animal, which looked up at the sound of its name. 

“Don’t worry if he shows no interest in you. He usually dislikes full-blooded Galra. Axca is my second-in-command--” 

The smallest warrior nodded a greeting, her dark eyes fixed unnervingly on his face. Sendak evaded her gaze, ears twitching. 

“--and the one beside her is Ezor. Zethrid should return in a tick or two.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Ezor said, still grinning--Sendak couldn’t help being unnerved, though she didn’t seem to notice. “Lotor talked about you a  _ lot _ last night.”

Lotor’s face blazed blue, and Sendak understood why she grinned. “I was  _ not _ that fixated--” he started.

“You kinda were,” said another voice--the fourth warrior, Zethrid, jogging around the bend in the path behind them. She was panting, and a bruise had blossomed across her right cheek, but otherwise she looked no worse for wear. Better, even--her expression was elated, her eyes dancing. “Literally every other sentence, this guy. Sendak this, Sendak that,  _ all _ night long.”

“I did  _ not _ !” Lotor protested, but Zethrid and Ezor were already laughing, Narti’s shoulders shaking with silent chuckles. Lotor scowled, his small ears flattening. “I should discharge the three of you for disobedience.”

“I owe all of you my thanks,” Sendak said quickly, taking the attention off Lotor and meeting Zethrid’s gaze directly. “I was in a lot of trouble back there, and I’m not sure how I would have escaped if you hadn’t intervened.”

_ That _ got a reaction--Axca straightened, eyes widening; Ezor leaned forward with interest; Narti’s head cocked curiously. The tops of Zethrid’s ears blushed lavender, and she looked away, dodging Sendak’s gaze.

“It was nothing,” she said, sounding almost bashful, one hand coming up to scratch the back of her ear. “Would’ve been shitty to just leave you to that  _ creep _ .”

“Still,” Sendak said. “It would be rude of me not to thank you.”

The four of them looked at each other, and a sidelong glance at Lotor said the prince stood shock-still and tense, small ears twitching slightly. Sendak’s stomach dropped.

“It’s not often a full Galra takes the time to be polite to us half-breeds,” Ezor said. Her eyes narrowed. “So what’s your game?”

“Why would I have a ‘game’?” Sendak asked, head tilting. “None of you have given me a reason to be  _ rude _ , so why should I be?”

“...He has a point,” Axca said. “Just leave it, Ezor.”

“We should keep moving,” Lotor said, before Ezor could retort. He’d pulled his holopad open on his bracer, studying what looked like a map on it. “There’s a crew scheduled for weeding in this quadrant in ten doboshes, and…” He paused, glancing sidelong at Sendak. “At what point do we need to return you to my father, anyway?”

“I have an appointment in the cybernetics lab in the twelfth varga,” Sendak said, unable to contain his grimace. “This is my final fitting for my ocular prosthetic, and unfortunately I can’t skip it without angering the witch.”

Lotor hissed softly, ears flattening. “I  _ cannot _ believe Father would entrust you to her for anything. I’ve seen what she does to living beings given the free reign…”

“I...can’t say I’m not frightened of her,” Sendak admitted, and, when none of the others moved, started down the path, prompting Lotor to trot to catch up to him.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Zethrid said.

“Yeah, talk about  _ freaky _ ,” Ezor chimed in.

“Intimidating,” Axca added.

Narti’s hands darted sharply to add, “Anyone with a functioning brain would be afraid.”

Lotor nodded. “I’ve had to chase off two of her druids already to keep her from spying in the last quintent alone.”

“They followed us around the whole time last time we were here,” Ezor said. “It was  _ really _ creepy.”

“They’re just.... _ not _ right,” Sendak said quietly. “They’re quieter than anything that size should be, and they don’t...move correctly. And the  _ smell _ …” He shivered, and saw Zethrid do the same. “And I’m going to have to let them fiddle with my optic nerves.”

Lotor patted his forearm sympathetically. “At least tell me Father intends to check in on you afterwards?”

“I  _ wish _ ,” Sendak replied. “He usually does, but he’ll be occupied with organizing the festivities until the evening.”

“Void  _ take _ him,” Lotor muttered. “Do you have anyone else who can check up on you?”

“Not in Central Command,” Sendak said.

“Then would you object to giving me your comms code?” Lotor asked. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you, but...well, I  _ am _ concerned about you being left alone after  _ that _ .”

“May I see your holopad?” Sendak asked.

Lotor nodded, leaning over and offering his forearm and the holopad projection, and Sendak pulled up his contacts list and input his code, glancing sidelong at Lotor as he did. The prince’s eyes were fixed on the screen, but he glanced up, almost as if he felt Sendak’s gaze on him. Zethrid cleared her throat behind them, and Sendak felt his cheeks heat with a blush. He quickly saved the contact and stepped back to give Lotor more space, averting his gaze.

“Hey, Lotor, didn’t you have a question you wanted to ask Sendak?” Ezor said, as they exited the copse, and her tone was sly enough that Sendak didn’t want to turn around to see her face.

“Wh--” Lotor started. Then his ears flicked upright, and his eyes widened. “Ah, yes. The Turn of the Cycle celebrations--it’s not possible my father  _ wouldn’t _ have you participate in some fashion, but given how long you’ve been in Central Command, I doubt it’s a major role…”

“I’ve been training to dance the part of the goddess Ahulra in the Breath of Fire movement,” Sendak said, ears flattening defensively.

Lotor’s eyes widened. “Really? He chose a complex part for you, he must be drilling you  _ relentlessly _ .”

“He has been,” Sendak said wryly. “I can take it, though.”

Lotor’s expression was dubious, and Sendak scowled and glanced around. His eyes landed on a bundle of staves left propped against a trellis. Dozens of others propped up the heavy boughs of some of the nearby flowering shrubs, but these were unattended--and nearly the length of his training sword. He snatched up a pair and tossed one to Lotor, twirling the other easily in his left hand.

“Come on. Let me show you just what I’m capable of--unless you don’t think I can handle it?” Sendak goaded, and set a stance.

Lotor’s eyes narrowed. “You asked for this.”

He leapt forward, and Sendak parried him easily, stepping into the forms of the dance. The staff was light in his hands, lighter than he was used to, and Lotor shorter, but the transition felt  _ natural _ . Each step was sure and steady, a mirror of Lotor’s tracing patterns in the packed dirt of the path underfoot. Their staves rang out against each other, the clatter of wood on wood. Sendak claimed ground and gave it, leaping and bounding and circling Lotor, and the universe shrank around him, to Lotor’s face through the flashing blows. He stuck the landing he’d stumbled on the previous day, bounding through it into the next whirling leap, and the next, and the next--

And then it was over as soon as it began, feet settling into the final stance, his staff held out before him. The end of it rested on the curve of Lotor’s breastplate, and if it had actually been his sword, the tip would have been level with Lotor’s throat. Lotor tipped his chin back slightly and studied him, his dark eyes wide.

Someone whistled behind him, and Sendak jumped. He’d forgotten they had an audience.

“Void, that was  _ good _ ,” Zethrid said. “How long have you been dancing, anyway?”

“...Ten movements, I think?” Sendak said, and tossed his staff back into the pile. “Since I was recovered enough to leave the infirmary, after they finished setting up my prosthetic.” He shrugged his left shoulder emphatically, drawing their attention to the limb.

“I didn’t realize that was a  _ prosthetic _ ,” Ezor said, her eyes widening.

“I would have thought the same if I hadn’t seen you without it yesterday,” Lotor said.

“Zarkon thought it would be easier for me to regain my motor control with a proportional model,” Sendak said, glancing away. His cheeks had heated with another blush--he hadn’t had so much attention on him since Zarkon had presented him to the court as he had in the last varga.

“And you’ve done beautifully,” Lotor said. “Especially with only ten movements’ practice--I’ve seen soldiers with many times that experience and half the control.”

“I, ah….” Sendak hesitated, looking back at Lotor shyly. “Thank you. I’m flattered.”

Lotor tossed his staff aside as well and stalked forward, and Sendak realized when Lotor paused an arm’s length away that he’d stopped breathing when the prince started moving.

“It’s been a long time since I danced the Breath of Fire movement,” Lotor said quietly. In the warm light of the gardens, his eyes looked deep as pools of still water, dark and consuming as black holes. The fur on the back of Sendak’s neck stood on end. “Might I have permission to dance as your partner, during the ceremony?”

Sendak’s throat had gone dry. “...I don’t think I would mind,” he replied.

“Excellent,” Lotor murmured, and stepped closer--closer--

Their breastplates brushed against each other. Sendak couldn’t break away from Lotor’s gaze.

“Lotor--” Axca started.

She never got the chance to finish.

“Less than a quintant, and my orders have already been disobeyed,” Zarkon thundered, and Sendak leapt backwards, away from Lotor, ears flattening anxiously against his skull. Lotor’s hand had dropped to his side again, and some bone-deep instinct said he was reaching for a weapon. He spun towards the sound of the Emperor’s voice--it was impossible he’d snuck up on them, and yet he stormed up the path towards him, his cape billowing out around him. His blazing eyes narrowed to fiery slits as he reached them. “Sendak. Come here.  _ Now _ .”

Sendak retreated hastily to his side, shoulders curling inwards as he braced for a scolding, but Zarkon merely took hold of his chin instead, turning his face this way and that as if inspecting him for injury, then stepped past him. The sweep of his cloak fell between Sendak and the others like a wall, blocking him from the huddled knot of the Generals, from Lotor, whose alarmed expression spoke volumes.

“Father--” Lotor began.

“ _ Silence _ ,” Zarkon snapped. “I should have expected no less from you. Already you shame your lineage, acting the heedless youth in public, and you coerce my apprentice into your schemes, at that. Have you not learned, Lotor?”

Lotor’s shoulders slumped, and his hand fell away from his hip to rest at his side. “...I should have learned already, sire, and I apologize for my misbehavior. It was a foolish mistake, and it will not happen again.”

“Sir, it was my fault,” Sendak said quickly, and the room hushed. Zarkon turned towards him, his expression unamused and expectant. Lotor was just visible over his shoulder, eyes wide with shock, and he shook his head and slashed a hand across his throat. Sendak took a deep breath and continued. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone out in public, sir, but the royal apartments were beginning to stifle, and I needed the breath of fresh air. One of your commanders accosted me, and gods know what would have happened if Prince Lotor hadn’t intervened on my behalf--”

“You need not make excuses for my son, Sendak,” Zarkon said, cutting him off, but his stance and his voice had softened.

“I’m not excusing him, sir. This was my fault, and I take responsibility for my actions,” Sendak replied.

Zarkon sighed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “...See that it does not happen again,” he said at last, and set a hand between Sendak’s shoulders. “Come. You have more important matters to attend to.”

“Yes, sir,” Sendak said, letting himself be led away from the others. He hesitated before they rounded the corner of the path and moved out of view, glancing back over his shoulder and meeting Lotor’s gaze, then turned back to the path before him.

Zarkon waited until they were out of the gardens to speak, until the door had hissed shut behind them and returned them to the dull steel halls of Central Command.

“That was reckless of you, Sendak,” he said flatly.

“I know. I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again, sir,” Sendak said, lowering his ears in shame.

Zarkon hummed in response. “I know. I should not have to remind you not to endanger yourself, even for a….. _ breath of fresh air _ .” He glanced sidelong at Sendak, and Sendak shrank bashfully under his stare. “Because of your comportment, I have had to ban Warlord Ranveig from Central Command, and I want you aware of this because his clan will be furious.”

“Yes, sir,” Sendak said. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. I would hate to see you come to harm.”

They had reached an intersection with a more populated hallway, and Zarkon fell silent there, upping his pace a little. Sendak had to trot to keep up, sticking to him as a second shadow and trying to ignore the way the soldiers they passed sprang aside and saluted, feigning nonchalance as best he could. The main halls felt much longer than the back corridors, though Sendak knew by and large they took more direct routes, save the veritable warren in the witch’s wing. He bit his lip anxiously when they passed the intersection with the Vrig Hall and headed towards the labs--he must have lost track of time, gotten too wrapped up in Lotor, if Zarkon was taking him there immediately.

“...Sir?” he said softly.

Zarkon didn’t respond immediately, ushering him into the elevator to the labs, then leaned against the wall and sighed heavily.

“Will you be well enough to return to your rooms after your appointment, or shall I request an escort for you?” Zarkon asked. His expression was weary, and guilt surged up in Sendak’s throat as it hit him that he’d compounded that duress.

“...I should be fine, sir,” Sendak said hesitantly.

Zarkon nodded. “I will check in with you as soon as I am able,” he said.

“Thank you,” Sendak said quietly, then, after a moment’s hesitation, he settled himself against Zarkon’s side, leaning against the bulk of his armor.

The elevator came to a halt, and Sendak reluctantly pulled away from Zarkon’s side, padding to the doorway and pausing there to look back at him. Zarkon inclined his head, urging him forward, and Sendak took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before striding into the lab. The air that hit his nostrils was pungent and almost thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and herbs layered over faint but pervasive rot--the smell of druids and quintessence. His stomach rebelled automatically, and he clenched his organic hand into a fist till the claws dug into his palm to keep from vomiting. The reek was foul enough merely clinging to Haggar’s robes. Being engulfed in it was worse, and from experience he knew it would cling to him for hours afterwards.

He gritted his teeth and moved on, further into the tangle of hallways. Zarkon usually accompanied him to prosthetics appointments, but he knew the way well enough to navigate on his own--two left turns and then a right, past the sealed door with the red access panel and left at the next hall, to the third door on the right side of the hallway. It slid open before he could even touch the access panel, and Sendak balked automatically, freezing at the sight of Haggar on the other side. The witch squinted up at him from beneath her cowl, luminous yellow eyes narrowed to slits, then moved back.

“Come with me,” she hissed, then turned on her heel without so much as checking to make sure Sendak would follow. The impulse to flee surged up in his chest, but he took another deep breath--choked on the air--and followed anyway, ears flattening against his will.

The light inside was brighter than in the halls, hexagonal panels shining violet overhead and illuminating the room, which was nearly empty save the examination platform. One of the surgeons from the main infirmary was present, lingering near the other exit, and it took Sendak a moment to recognize him with the physician’s mask over the lower half of his face. Ulaz. Well, that was a small relief. Ulaz had overseen the installation of the nerve ports in his upper arm and, more recently, his eye socket, and Sendak knew he was competent. He nodded a greeting, relieved when Ulaz nodded in response.

“Sit,” Haggar snapped, and Sendak flattened his ears further, doing his best not to flinch. The witch looked almost impatient--her expression was nigh unreadable, but her long fingers twitched in the folds of her sleeves. He sat himself reluctantly on the examination platform, squaring his shoulders again and focusing on breathing deeply enough to stabilize, but not so deeply the scent hit the back of his throat.

Haggar stepped forward then, withdrawing something metallic from the folds of her robe. It had to be the prosthetic. He recognized the shape of an eye in the sleek steel curves of the front casing, a closed lid, the exaggerated shape of eyelashes in the upswept outer corner, like the eyes on a commander’s armor. For intimidation, he knew--many Galra painted such shapes on themselves for the same effect. He had never been one for makeup, but he knew the general effect. The Witch scowled at him and gestured for him to bow his head, and Sendak obliged, squeezing his eye shut and focusing on his breathing.

Silence. Shuffling fabric. Something cold brushed his right cheek, just over the arch of his cheekbone. A soft hiss, similar in tone to the one his prosthetic made when it coupled with the ports, followed by a burst of sensation across the eyelid that wasn’t there as the prosthetic wired into the old nerves. More shuffling fabric, a slow soft scrape of metal on metal, and the cool steel of the prosthetic settled against his orbital arch.

There was another soft shuffle of fabric, and then a breeze on his face as Haggar withdrew. Sendak kept his eye closed, waiting for an order.

“Run the diagnostics,” Haggar said, and Sendak did his best not to flinch.

“Yes, High Priestess,” Ulaz replied. Silence. Something beeped, claws clattered on a screen. Another soft whirring sound. Sendak felt the tickle across his right eyelid again, almost an itch this time, and dug his claws into his palm to keep from touching it. “It’s reporting a full connection to his optic nerve. When he opens his eyes, it should be fully functional.”

“Good,” Haggar said. Sendak could hear the bite in her tone and cringed a little. “Open your eyes.”

Sendak obliged, blinking and squinting in the bright lights. For a long moment he couldn’t get his vision to focus--the room blurred and doubled around him, and he grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, swaying dizzily and squinting until at last the room came into focus. He flinched, then. The witch was much,  _ much _ closer than he had expected--everything was closer than he expected, and  _ sharper _ \--and had he really been missing so much on his right side? He must have been--he hadn’t realized before.

“The diagnostic is reporting full operation,” Ulaz said.

Haggar squinted at him, and Sendak recoiled slightly.

“It’s working,” he said quickly. “I can see with it. May I go now?”

The witch opened her mouth to say something, but Ulaz cut her off before she could. “We will need to run diagnostics again, at the end of the movement, but the main infirmary should be suitable to confirm proper function.”

“You may go,” Haggar said, shooting Ulaz a look from under her cowl.

Sendak scrambled to his feet and booked it for the door before he could see any of the fallout, hurrying back the way he’d come. The air choked him, heavy as lead in his lungs and smothering with scent, the druid reek making his head spin. He reached the elevator, slammed his palm against the access panel and pressed himself against the back wall when the door opened, panting and breathing the clearer air, trying to clear his nose. His hands were shaking. His knees trembled, threatened to give out on him when the elevator came to a stop on the main floor and he forced himself out.

The nearest door to the back corridors was only a few paces up the hall, and Sendak forced his shoulders square and made it just inside before slumping against the wall again, shuddering all over. His heart pounded in his ears, vision doubling again, and he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the wall, trying to breathe deeply. The stench of the labs hung heavy in his nostrils--gods, it was in his  _ clothes _ , in his  _ fur _ \--

He forced himself away from the wall and hurried up the corridor, quickly breaking into a sprint to try and outrun the smell. By the time he reached the elevator to the royal apartments he was out of breath, shaking and panting again and digging his claws into his palm to keep from collapsing or throwing up. The ride up was a blur, and he staggered into his quarters with a suppressed sob of relief, unbuckling his armor and stripping out of the undersuit as quickly as he could, then collapsed in his bed in a heap, shaking all over.

When his holopad beeped a dobosh or two later, he’d roused just enough to hear it, and reached fumblingly across the blankets for the device to pull up the screen. A notification blinked in the center of the screen--two text messages, from a comms code he didn’t recognize. Sendak hesitated a moment, then opened them.

_ unknown | Apologies for the abrupt text; it’s Lotor. _

_ unknown | I wanted to check in with you after your appointment with the witch. Are you well? _

Sendak took a deep breath, shaking his head to clear it, then typed a message of his own.

_ Sendak | no. srry to bug you, am in trouble. please come _

He dropped the holopad after that, slowly curling in on himself and pressing his face into the blankets, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself down, to come back from the knife-edge of panic.

By the time the door to his quarters hissed open he’d managed to catch his breath, ragged gasps fading away to slower, deeper ones, but the shape in the doorway nearly made him panic again. The shock of white, the stature--it took him a tick or two to recognize Lotor and banish the lingering shape of the witch.

Lotor had clearly seen it, though, and his brow furrowed with concern as he padded over. He hesitated at the side of the bed a moment, then quickly shucked his armor and scrambled in as well, settling down beside Sendak but not touching him yet.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

“No,” Sendak mumbled back.

“May I touch you?”

“ _ Please _ .”

A moment’s hesitation, and then Lotor reached out to run his hand over Sendak’s upper back, through the thick, curling fur there. Sendak shifted enough to cuddle close to him, settling himself against Lotor’s side and pressing his face against Lotor’s shoulder. His scent was pleasant, mild with undertones of spice, and Sendak found himself nuzzling into the fabric of his undersuit. Warm weight settled around his upper back and waist.

They fell silent for a time, Lotor’s hands carding through Sendak’s fur, Sendak’s face pressed against his shoulder. The weight of his presence was comforting, Sendak decided, solid and steady against him, and he let himself sink against Lotor.

When Lotor spoke again, his tone was gentle. “Can you tell me what she did to you?”

“.....Just installed the prosthetic,” Sendak replied. “I just…I can’t  _ stand _ the labs, not after my arm…….”

“May I ask?” Lotor asked. His fingers traced over the curve of the shoulder of Sendak’s prosthetic.

“......When Emperor Zarkon brought me in from the field, I was dying of an infection in my left forearm,” Sendak said quietly. “The recovery was...rough, and when they tried to install nerve ports for a prosthetic in the remnant limb…...it turned out most of what was left, the nerves were too damaged to connect ports. They had to cut it back further and further each time, trying to find  _ something _ to connect to, and…”

“And you were afraid the same would happen with your eye,” Lotor said softly. “Oh, Sendak...I am so sorry you had to bear such pain.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault,” Sendak said. He nuzzled Lotor’s shoulder again, then, after a moment’s hesitation, shifted to press his face into the crook of Lotor’s neck. His scent was more powerful there, and Sendak closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

“I know,” Lotor replied. “I do feel badly for you, though. To have been through what you have in these last movements, and to still be subjected to the witch……” His arms tightened around Sendak, pulling him closer.

“I can bear it.”

“You should not have to.”

Sendak stayed quiet, and after a moment Lotor heaved a sigh and relaxed his grip a little. His hands clenched and released in Sendak’s fur, stroking almost absentmindedly through it, and the gentle, repetitive touch lulled Sendak nearly to a doze.

“......Sendak?” Lotor asked, after a time. Sendak lifted his head, blinking sleepily up at him and noting the way the prince’s eyes lit up. “I was thinking perhaps we should plan our next meeting, so you don’t have to take chances with command and I need not risk my father’s wrath.”

Sendak sat himself up reluctantly. “Mm. Perhaps the royal library? I have another half chapter of the Historia yet to read I’ve been delaying, and not many people visit. There’s a little seating area in the back…”

“The one near the section on the Zaipirium Siege?” Lotor asked.

“Yes, that’s the one. Tomorrow? Or will that be too soon for Zarkon to have let his guard down?”

“Tomorrow may be too soon, but the day after will work. And it isn’t as if we can’t talk--you have my comms code now, and I yours.”

Sendak sighed quietly, pushing himself upright. “I take it this is farewell for now?”

“For now,” Lotor replied. “I can’t risk Father catching me here. I wish I could linger, but…”

“Don’t risk it,” Sendak said. “I’ll see you soon.”


	3. The Fire Sermon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ To Carthage then I came _
> 
> _ Burning burning burning burning _   
_ Oh Lord thou pluckest me out _   
_ Oh Lord thou pluckest _
> 
> _ burning _  
_ \--T S Eliot, _ The Waste Land

_ hax | ur actually gonna do smth abt it this time right _

_ hax | i mean cmon sen _

_ hax | not everyone u get a crush on is just gonna come to u like i did _

Sendak sighed, clicking away from the notifications and scrolling further down his page in the Historia, ears twitching slightly. The royal library was always quiet, almost unnervingly so--with so much information widely available in the digital archives, very few people felt the need to visit the physical ones. They made ideal places to relax uninterrupted, though, and Sendak was grateful for the escape every time. He glanced over the top of his holopad a moment, scanning the shelves for movement, then returned his gaze to the page. 

He’d just finished the section on the Order of Archivists--established three cycles after Emperor Brodar’s arrival on planet Feyiv and based in what would eventually become the compound that hosted the Kral Zera and housed the Flame Eternal--and if his skim of the next section was right he was about to delve into the rites and rituals of the Kral Zera ceremonies--

The holopad beeped softly at him, and another notification--two notifications--appeared at the top of the screen. Sendak sighed and clicked on them.

_ Lotor | I’m three doboshes out yet. One of the druids was following me; I had to lose the tail. _

_ hax | come ON sendak whats stopping u this time???? uve already got my permission to chase ur prince _

_ hax | its not like zarkon would stop u if u wanted him _

Sendak resisted the urge to groan, hastily typing a reply.

_ Sendak | I’m nervous and it’s a little weird okay?? he’s my mentor’s kid and I don’t know if he’d reciprocate, I’m not just gonna dump my shit on him out of nowhere _

_ hax | he was in ur rooms in like ten doboshes after the witch had u _ __   
_ hax | he *texted u first to ask if u were ok*, sen _ _   
_ __ hax | he likes u. trust me

Sendak nearly dashed off another response, but at that moment he caught the faint, distant hiss of the library doors opening, and he quickly muted the chat and reopened the Historia. The doors hissed shut, and he couldn’t help the way his ears tilted towards the sound, tracking the soft footsteps as whoever entered made their way through the stacks. They sounded a bit heavy to be Lotor’s, though, and when they turned the wrong way and faded towards the fiction section he settled into his chair again and returned his attention to the page.

He’d gotten so absorbed in the reading that he failed to notice the doors opening, or the footsteps approaching, or anything until a weight landed on the arm of the chair beside him and the acrid scent of cleaning chemicals filled his nostrils. Sendak jumped, fur fluffing, and looked up into a pair of deep violet eyes.

“You know, I  _ loathe _ druids,” Lotor said casually. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he spoke, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes.

“Couldn’t shake them?” Sendak asked, shutting down his holopad and tucking it back into his uniform.

“They are  _ remarkably _ persistent,” Lotor replied, making a soft, irritable noise in the back of his throat. “It took concealing myself in a storage closet for three doboshes for them to lose my scent.”

Sendak snorted. “You  _ do _ smell like disinfectant. No generals today?”

“Zethrid, if I had to hazard a guess, is off harassing the crew. I’ve asked Ezor to scope things out if she can, with Axca offering her technical support.” Lotor frowned slightly, then added, “And frankly, I have no idea where Narti is.”

“That sounds like it might be an issue.”

“She’ll be alright. She always is. At any rate, bringing them with me to see you would only draw more attention, and  _ that _ is the opposite of what we want.” Lotor met Sendak’s gaze directly. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Sendak replied. “ _ I _ certainly wouldn’t want Zarkon to catch us again.”

“Or anyone else, for that matter,” Lotor agreed. “There are enough rumors flying already.”

Sendak’s brows arched, ears flicking up immediately. “What are they saying  _ now _ ?”

Lotor shrugged. “They’ve decided I attempted to kill you two quintants ago to eliminate a rival for the throne.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sendak said.

“Isn’t it?” Lotor agreed. “I rescue you from  _ one _ disgusting commander, and suddenly I’m the wicked older sibling trying to assassinate the favored heir and steal the throne for myself again.”

Sendak snorted dismissively. “They’re just jealous they weren’t there to rescue me themselves. Expecting me to...I don’t know, fall all over them like some hapless damsel. Pledge my undying affection for my savior.”

“Oh, you usually do so?” Lotor asked, his grin widening. “Is  _ that _ what that was, with Zethrid?”

“Absolutely,” Sendak said, trying to compose himself. “Who  _ wouldn’t _ fall for Zethrid at first sight? She’s  _ fearless _ , and I do love being protected from commanders with no sense of personal space.”

Lotor laughed there, slumping over to rest against Sendak’s shoulder and shaking with suppressed chuckles, and Sendak grinned and joined in, leaning against him and laughing.

“I mean it, though,” Sendak said, once they’d sobered a little. “I can’t thank you enough for stepping in there.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Lotor said. “You’ve already thanked us, and your thanks was welcomed. You don’t need to do it every time you see me or my generals for the rest of your life.”

“I know,” Sendak said, shrugging slightly. “I’m not accustomed to strangers coming to my defense, that’s all.”

Lotor’s brows creased in a frown. “...How  _ inconsiderate _ ,” he muttered. “That someone would attack you in the first place, much less that observers would leave you to face the abuse alone.”

“I’m accustomed to it,” Sendak replied. “Not everyone finds me likeable.”

He realised he’d said the wrong thing almost as soon as it left his mouth, because Lotor’s brows furrowed further, his shoulders hiking with concern. “I can’t imagine why. You’re perfectly pleasant to share space with,  _ astoundingly _ polite, an excellent conversationalist…” He trailed off, and unless Sendak was mistaken, his ears had blushed blue.

Sendak shrugged, trying to dispel the tension. “Soldiers who enlist on their own often prefer not to share space with those of us who were drafted. It’s not as if it matters, anyway. No one can touch me here.”

Lotor nodded. “Father keeps you quite isolated, from the court and from the military. It was  _ very _ difficult to gather information on you before I arrived--” Lotor hesitated, ears twitching nervously. “...I don’t mean to sound as if I were stalking you, I simply didn’t wish to…”

“To walk into a situation without gathering intel first, and no way to tell what was waiting for you?” Sendak asked, arching a brow. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to walk onto a battlefield without knowing what the terrain was and at least some idea as to how my enemies operated; I can’t fault you for doing the same.”

Lotor’s brows arched. “A  _ foot soldier _ considers the terrain and their opponents? And here I thought the military encouraged you all to think less and shoot more.”

“Can you keep another secret for me, Lotor?” Sendak asked, leaning in.

Lotor blinked, eyes widening, and leaned in himself until their noses were nearly brushing. “Always,” he replied. His voice had gone hushed, hardly more than a whisper.

“You’re right, they  _ hate _ when we think for ourselves. The more the rank and file thinks, the more likely they are to disobey orders,” Sendak said, lowering his voice as well. “And that’s why I’m here. On my last campaign in the field….” He hesitated, lifted his head a moment to look around, to make sure they hadn’t been observed. “......My last commander was  _ incompetent _ . He only ever attacked straightforward, never considering that hurling your troops headlong at the enemy is  _ rarely _ the best strategy. He cost a full third of our crew their lives, and--I had to do something. My life for the Empire, but  _ gods _ ...I couldn’t watch the others die, not while there was blood in my veins.”

“You led a mutiny,” Lotor whispered, his tone awestruck.

“I did,” Sendak replied. “We won the campaign that quintant, with no further casualties, and he threw me in the brig for my trouble.”

“And somehow my father got wind of this and decided he wanted the  _ mutinous  _ one,” Lotor said. He was smirking now, just barely hinting at teeth in a way that made Sendak want to shiver. “Fancy that. He usually prefers obedience as well.”

“Mm, he said my strategy was what drew his eye, not my rebelliousness.”

“Pity, that. It’s an appealing quality.”

Sendak hummed in response, meeting Lotor’s eyes again. Lotor blinked, but didn’t look away, his dark eyes pinning Sendak in place--and he let himself be held, holding Lotor’s gaze just as firmly.

There was a flicker of movement just over Lotor’s shoulder. A faint, steely whisper grabbed Sendak’s attention. He’d wrapped an arm around Lotor’s shoulders before he even registered what about it screamed  _ danger _ , hurling them both backwards and kicking the chair he’d been seated in away from them.

Someone else grunted in surprise, and when Sendak recovered from the roll, there was a sword quivering in the arm of the seat. He moved immediately to cover Lotor, shielding the prince with his body and snarling.

Another hiss. To his left. His arm snapped up automatically, not a tick before something slammed into his forearm. Steel on steel. He twisted his wrist, snatched the blade before its wielder could react and launched himself upright.

He was inches away from a black-masked face. Blazing yellow eyes, sleek black cloth concealing the other features. The attacker scrambled back. Not fast enough. Sendak thrust the blade forward and upward. The impact shocked up his arm. The attacker crumpled, sword jammed beneath their breastplate. No time to retrieve the blade--Sendak let it fall, wheeling about and taking a defensive stance.

Lotor was just recovering, half-crouched between Sendak and the chair they’d occupied, his dark eyes wide and frantic. On the other side of the chair, another black-masked warrior--no, two, a second lurked at the end of the aisle. Both had weapons at the ready, the same blades as the last. Sendak didn’t recognize the insignia on their breastplates. His ears flattened against his skull, and he stepped smoothly between Lotor and the attackers.

“Stay behind me,” he snapped, shooting Lotor a sidelong glance. Lotor nodded, ears flat to his head.

Silence. Neither of their attackers moved. Sendak waited, eyes darting between the pair.

The nearer one sprang over the chair, blade scything. Sendak dropped flat. The sword hissed over his head, and he planted his palms and kicked out, swept the attacker’s feet from under them. Launched himself upright. Blocked a slash with his prosthetic forearm. His fist smashed a cheekbone, hurling them back.

“Sendak!” Lotor shouted behind him.

It was all the warning he got before the second attacker-- _ assassin _ , he realized--lunged at him from the side. Sendak leapt away. Their sword hissed through the spot where he’d stood a heartbeat later. He sprang over their second thrust, twisted midair, got his legs around their neck--

His momentum kept him going, accompanied by a resounding crack, and the assassin dropped like a stone. He rolled, narrowly evading the remaining assassin’s next strike, and snatched up the fallen one’s sword to block the next, catching their blade on a parry. Their eyes narrowed. A chill ran up Sendak’s spine, and he shoved, pushing the smaller assassin back. Their boots screeched on the floor beneath them. He winced, flattening his ears to try and block out the sound. Something silvery flashed in his peripheral vision.

Blinding pain burst across the left side of Sendak’s brow. Heat, damp--something blue dripped over his brow, stinging his eye. He flinched back. More blue, his blood splattering the floor. The assassin shoved at their locked blades, twisting. His wrist stabbed with pain. The sword clattered from his suddenly numb fingers. He threw his prosthetic arm up, trying to shield himself from an attack. A hand wrapped around his wrist. Yanked him off-balance.

He slammed against the shelf breastplate first, yelping with pain. The synthetic nerves in his prosthetic shocked pain from the wrist and elbow as the assassin twisted his arm behind him, pinning him in place.

“Not so fine a fighter after all, are you?” they hissed in his ear. Sendak jerked his head, trying to pull away, and something hard and pointed jabbed him in the lower back, just hard enough to threaten to cut through his suit. “Don’t move, or I’ll cripple you.”

Sendak squeezed his eyes shut and braced.

And then the assassin yelped. A burst of clear air across his back, the weapon aimed at his spine pulled away, and they gave a gurgling cry Sendak knew all too well. He spun around in time to watch Lotor wrench his knife back. The assassin’s throat gaped like a second mouth, blood gushing from the wound. Lotor shoved them aside, spinning the knife threateningly in his hand, but it was already obvious they wouldn’t be getting back up. Lotor frowned, stepping back out of the spray and wiping his blade clean, then sheathed it in his bracer, concealing it from view as he turned back to Sendak.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his head tilting.

“I--” Sendak started. “I’m alright. Just shaken.”

“You’re bleeding,” Lotor replied, stepping around the body to reach up and grab Sendak by the shoulder, pulling him down gently. His other hand cupped Sendak’s cheek, tilted his face to get a better look at the cut over his brow.

“It’s nothing--” Sendak started.

Lotor’s index finger landed on his lips, silencing him. “None of that. Let me….”

He hesitated, glancing around, then pulled Sendak away from the corpse and back towards the undamaged chair, then pushed him down in the seat and pulled something from his uniform--a pack of sanitary wipes, from a glance.

“Lotor, it’s  _ fine _ \--” Sendak protested.

“ _ Hush _ ,” Lotor said, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t know what that assassin had on their blade. At least allow me to clean it up a little.”

Sendak sighed and shut his eyes, wincing as the wipe brushed over the edge of the wound, the antiseptic stinging painfully. Lotor didn’t linger there long, though, moving quickly to wipe away the blood that had dripped down his brow, the side of his face, his cheekbone. His hands paused, and when Sendak squeezed his eye more tightly shut he could no longer feel the tackiness of blood in his fur. Heat trailed over his brow. Lotor hissed softly, the tone scolding, and dabbed at the wound again.

“You stop that,” he said. “You’ll make it bleed again.”

“It’s only a scratch,” Sendak muttered.

“And?” Lotor asked. His brow was arched skeptically when Sendak opened his eyes, and Sendak sighed and let his shoulders slump, relenting. “Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

“They twisted my wrist when they disarmed me, but I don’t think there was any permanent damage,” Sendak replied.

“May I see?” Lotor asked.

Sendak sighed and offered his wrist for Lotor’s inspection, letting the prince rotate his arm to look it over for injury.

“......It seems to be alright,” Lotor said eventually. “Perhaps sprained, at most.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” Sendak replied.

“Good,” Lotor said, then lifted his head and looked around, surveying the damage.

Sendak mirrored him, wincing a little at the mess they’d made. Blood splattered the floor and the shelf Sendak had been pinned against. The body of the assassin whose neck Sendak had broken lay slumped, barely visible, on the other side of the damaged chair, which leaked stuffing from an enormous rent in the back and arm. From this angle, the body of the first assassin was hidden from view, but Sendak knew it must be just as bloody as the last.

“.......We need to leave,” Lotor said. “I don’t want to chance more coming.”

“And if they’re waiting outside for us?” Sendak asked, ears flattening.

Lotor shook his head. “I can’t call my generals for help and risk them walking into an ambush.”

“I can call Emperor Zarkon,” Sendak said.

“...Must you?” Lotor asked, grimacing.

“It isn’t as if we have another option,” Sendak replied. “We don’t know if they have an ambush laid, or where, and risking your Generals isn’t an option. However, if we call Emperor Zarkon, we can get an escort out they won’t dare touch and hopefully answers as to who sent them and why.”

Lotor arched a brow. “You have some idea who sent them, don’t you,” he said, tone certain.

“Warlord Ranveig’s clan or faction, one of the two,” Sendak replied. “He was affiliated with someone, and Zarkon told me the day he was banned they might take offense. I just can’t tell whether they were after you...or  _ me _ .”

“You’re frightened, aren’t you?” Lotor asked, his head tilting.

“Yes,” Sendak said flatly. “This is the first time someone’s tried to kill me for politically motivated reasons, of course I’m frightened.”

“Alright,” Lotor said, settling onto the arm of the chair. “Then call my father. I’ll wait with you until he comes.”

“Thank you,” Sendak said softly. He flicked open his holopad, hurried to his contacts, and pressed the emergency icon beside Zarkon’s name. The holopad beeped softly, pulsing gently red to let him know the emergency alert had been sent.

“......Who’s Haxus?” Lotor asked. Sendak jumped and looked up, startled, and Lotor’s face flushed bluish. “I don’t mean to pry, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind you,” Sendak replied with a shrug. “Haxus is my partner.”

Lotor hummed. “Of course. I’m not surprised someone like you is taken--”

Sendak cut him off hastily. “The relationship is open--he’s still stationed on the expansion edge, and it would be unfair to keep him chained to me while I’m so far away, and vice versa.”

“...Ah,” Lotor replied. “Is this for his comfort or yours?”

Sendak shrugged. “Both. We both know we’re still each other’s primary partner, this just...means we’re free to seek intimacy and companionship elsewhere, if we desire it.”

“And do you desire it?” Lotor’s tone was heavily weighted with implications.

“I’m open to the suggestion,” Sendak replied.

Lotor opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment the doors to the library hissed open, Zarkon’s thunderous bootsteps ringing through the aisles. He was at the end of their aisle in a moment, all but skidding to a stop as he surveyed the damage. Sendak shrank a little in his seat, noting that Lotor did the same, shoulders hunching infinitesimally. The Emperor’s luminous eyes roved over the carnage, eventually coming to rest on Sendak and Lotor, and he strode forward, stepping carefully over the bodies of the assassins.

“What happened here?” Zarkon asked. His tone was lower than usual, softer, his gaze flicking between Sendak and Lotor.

“We were attacked, sir,” Sendak said quietly, letting his ears flatten anxiously at last and a faint whine creep into his tone.

“Are either of you injured?” Zarkon’s head tilted slightly, and Sendak knew in a moment where Lotor got the gesture from.

“We’re alright--” Sendak started.

“ _ Alright _ ?” Lotor demanded, cutting him off. “You were nearly  _ killed _ , Sendak!”

Zarkon’s eyes narrowed. “Is this true, Sendak?”

Sendak’s ears lowered, shoulders hunching. “The last one managed to clip my brow with a knife and I…..allowed myself to be distracted and disarmed--but I’m alright, really. Lotor stepped in to protect me, I was hardly scratched.”

“They had him up against the shelf with a sword aimed at his spine and threatened to cripple him, Father,” Lotor said.

“And you  _ cut their throat _ , I wasn’t harmed,” Sendak retorted. “I’m fine, sir,” he added, returning his attention to Zarkon.

Zarkon sighed heavily and strode forward, taking Sendak’s chin in hand and tilting his face to inspect the cut on his brow, scowling. “You are  _ fortunate _ it was only a cut,” he said at last, then released Sendak and turned his attention to Lotor. “Were you harmed?”

Lotor’s eyes widened. “...I came through unscathed, Father. Sendak defended me admirably.”

Zarkon huffed approvingly, shifting back slightly to inspect the scene again, then returned his attention to them. “I am  _ most _ pleased with the pair of you,” he said. His tone was warmer than Sendak had heard it before, rich and rumbling in his chest. 

Sendak couldn’t help perking up at the praise, ears flicking upright, his whole body coming more alert. He hadn’t thought Lotor’s eyes could widen further, but they had, his small ears flicking forward as a startled, delighted look flitted across his face. He shot Sendak a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile--a genuine one, not a smirk, and something warm blossomed beneath Sendak’s sternum.

He’d only wanted to kiss someone so badly once before.

When he returned his attention to Zarkon, the Emperor had his own holopad open, tapping out orders on the screen. He shut it down quickly, looking back up at Sendak and Lotor. “You two will return with me to my study,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Until we have confirmation as to who sent the assassins, and which of you was the target, I cannot allow you about Central Command unescorted.”

“Father--” Lotor protested.

“Silence,” Zarkon huffed, but there was no real heat in it. “Regardless of our quarrels, I would not see my son come to harm at the behest of a coward.”

Lotor sighed quietly, shoulders relaxing. “No, Father. I will do as you bid.” A pause, his head tilting slightly, and then he added, “...I would hate to leave Sendak after this, at any rate. He  _ did _ mention being frightened to me earlier…”

“ _ Lotor _ ,” Sendak whined, unable to keep from pouting.

Lotor chuckled, and then--to Sendak’s surprise--hopped out of the chair and stood, offering his arm to Sendak. “Shall we?”

Sendak glanced sideways at Zarkon, a little anxious as to how he would react, but the Emperor’s attention was on his holopad again. “...I suppose we shall,” he replied, standing and linking his arm through Lotor’s. The touch was a comfort--even more so when Lotor pulled him closer.

Zarkon closed his holopad down and looked back at them, and Sendak very nearly pulled away from Lotor, not wanting to anger him, but Zarkon merely sighed and turned away, heading for the door to the back halls without saying a word. Sendak looked down at Lotor, ears twitching nervously. The prince flashed him a reassuring half-smile and tugged him closer, leading him after Zarkon. His touch felt tacky--Sendak had nearly forgotten the blood on both of them from the assassin’s arterial spray. He’d need to clean his armor once they got back to the royal apartments, maybe loan Lotor his cleaning supplies if he wanted to use them.

They’d reached the doors to the royal apartments in doboshes. Zarkon held the door for them when they caught up to his longer stride, and Sendak shivered a little under his stare--something about Zarkon’s expression was deeply disapproving, but he didn’t voice it, merely retreating to his study and leaving Sendak and Lotor alone in the common area.

“I...suppose we should get cleaned up,” Sendak said, after a moment’s awkward silence.

“I suppose we should,” Lotor replied. “I should see if Zarkon left what clothes I left behind in my old quarters.”

“I can loan you something, if you end up needing clothes,” Sendak offered.

Lotor snorted with laughter. “Sendak, your clothing would be  _ enormous _ on me. Can you  _ imagine _ ?”

Sendak could imagine it, all too well--Lotor was smaller than Haxus, even, he could easily picture the neck of a shirt hanging off Lotor’s slim shoulders.

“...Well, the offer is open, if you need it,” he said, and ducked back into his own quarters before Lotor could respond, face and ears blushing furiously.

He shucked his armor and suit as quickly as he could, setting aside his breastplate and left pauldron and bracer to clean up and lingering in front of his closet for a couple doboshes, looking over his clothing options. Some small, vain part of him hesitated to choose an outfit--was he  _ really _ so worried about impressing Lotor? He’d thought himself better than that. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed one of his fuller, knee-length skirts and a loose, sleeveless shirt, pulling both on and hastily grooming his tousled mane, aiming for presentability. He ducked into his en suite bathroom, re-grooming quickly, and inspected himself in the mirror, turning this way and that.

Lotor had already cleaned the worst of the blood from his face, and the cut was scabbing over, leaving a blue-violet streak over his brow. He still wasn’t quite used to the cybernetic eye, yet--the blued steel and yellow lens surprised him every time. His face hadn’t looked so complete since he was a teen, even  _ with _ the ragged scar cutting his face from crest to cheekbone. He tugged lightly on his shirt’s wide, scooped neck, carefully raking his ruff so the curls overlapped it. Haxus had always liked the look; almost disheveled, but attractively so. Hopefully Lotor was the same.

Sendak exited the bathroom after a last, quick twirl in the mirror, retrieved his bloodied armor and cleaning kit, and made his way back to the common room, looking around hastily. Lotor had vanished while he’d been getting dressed, and Sendak settled himself on the couch, spreading his skirt around him and setting his breastplate in his lap to clean.

He’d finished the breastplate and pauldron and was scrubbing drying blood from his bracer by the time one of the doors hissed open, and glanced up in time to watch Lotor emerge. The prince had stripped down to his undersuit, and Sendak did his best not to study him too overtly. Without his armor and skirt in the way, he was more appealing to look at--long, lean musculature, a sway to his stride that said he’d been training in swordplay since he was large enough to handle a practice sword. His shoulders were broader than Sendak had thought, his hips slimmer, much more classically Galra-shaped despite his small frame. Lotor collapsed backwards on the couch beside him with a groan, armor clattering around him in a heap.

“And, of course, I left my kit on my cruiser,” Lotor muttered.

“Well, you can’t have been expecting to kill someone today. You could borrow mine, if you like,” Sendak replied, schooling his expression into neutrality as Lotor glanced sidelong at him. Those dark eyes met his a moment, then wandered down to his shoulders and chest, and Lotor’s brows made a sharp, aborted move towards his hairline before he met Sendak’s gaze again.

“I would appreciate it,” Lotor said at last. “I  _ refuse _ to leave the apartments in filthy armor, and I  _ certainly _ won’t leave them dressed like this.”

Sendak handed him one of his clean cloths and the bottle of cleaner, perking up despite himself at Lotor’s grateful hum, and returned to his own cleaning, half-distracted by Lotor’s smaller hands scrubbing at the splatters across the front of his breastplate. From the corner of his eye, he caught Lotor doing the same, those dark eyes flickering over his hands, his lap, over his bare arms--and, once, when Sendak looked up from scrubbing a particularly stubborn crust--lingering on his face, lips slightly parted, as if he was holding himself back from speaking.

He couldn’t keep scrubbing his bracer forever, though, and eventually he had to stop pretending, setting it down with his breastplate and pauldron and settling back into the couch cushions. A sidelong glance at Lotor showed him intent on his own bracers, scrubbing furiously at dried-on blood, his tongue protruding slightly as he grimaced intently.

“May I?” Sendak asked after a moment or two, indicating the other bracer with his cleaning cloth.

“Please,” Lotor said, handing it over immediately.

They fell to silence again, comfortably, though Sendak couldn’t help looking at Lotor from time to time, watching his face. He was not handsome, that was for certain. But there was... _ something _ about him, something appealing about his soft, round face, his delicate jawline, those dark eyes. His hands were careful but intent on his armor, polishing the steel to a shine, and some part of Sendak yearned to have those hands on him.

He was just finishing the final polish on the bracer when the main doors hissed open. An out-of-breath corporal staggered through them, doubling over to gasp for air as they slid shut behind him, only a tick or two before the door to Zarkon’s study opened and the Emperor emerged.

“You have an update on the investigation,” Zarkon said flatly.

The corporal nodded, holding up a hand as he caught his breath, then straightened and clasped it over his heart. “Emperor Zarkon, sir,” he said, breathlessly. “We opened their holos, sir. They were hired by Clan Verrat after all.”

Zarkon nodded. “What else?”

“Their primary target was Prince Lotor, sir, with secondary orders to--ah, to remove your apprentice from--from useful ability, sir.” The corporal’s eyes were wide, and his small ears flicked towards Sendak as he glanced over. A chill ran down Sendak’s spine, centered on the place where the assassin had pressed their sword.

They’d meant to cripple him after all. It had been no idle threat.

“Have you any other information?” Zarkon asked. His head tilted, the expression somehow predatory rather than curious.

“N-not at the moment, sir,” the corporal said.

“Update me when they finish decoding the assassins’ orders,” Zarkon said sternly.

The corporal saluted again, hand over his heart. “Yes sir!” he replied, then spun on his heel and hurried from the room.

“I’m surprised it wasn’t the Witch after all,” Lotor said, his tone deceptively mild. “She was the last one to try it.”

“Lotor,” Zarkon said, his eyes narrowing.

“Tell me I’m lying,” Lotor challenged, springing to his feet. “Tell me she  _ didn’t _ try to kill me the last time I was in Central Command.”

Zarkon sighed, turning his face away.

Lotor growled under his breath and snatched up his armor, taking the bracer gently from Sendak’s hands. “I need to leave. If they sent assassins after me, they may target my generals as well, and I can’t risk that.” He narrowed his eyes at Zarkon’s back, but his face had softened when he turned back to Sendak. “I shall see you later.”

“I look forward to it,” Sendak replied, resisting the urge to lean up and press his brow against Lotor’s.

And then he was gone, vanishing back into his quarters for a dobosh before emerging again in armor, his uniform skirt swaying as he all but stormed out the doors.

Sendak hesitated, looking between the door and Zarkon, ears lowering anxiously. Something cold churned low in his guts, tying itself in knots, and he could scarcely find his voice. “...Sir?” he asked softly.

Zarkon turned to face him again, his expression weary. The creases around his eyes had deepened, pitching his face into shadow, and he made his way over to the couch, sitting down beside Sendak and reaching over, cupping Sendak’s cheek in his hand.

“This is why I asked you not to involve yourself with Lotor,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Each time I invite him to Central Command, he envelops himself, and everyone incautious enough to enter his orbit, in turmoil and conflict. I did not wish this danger to befall you.”

“This was my fault, sir,” Sendak murmured, leaning into Zarkon’s hand for comfort. “I was the one who drew Ranveig’s attention, not Lotor. If someone must take the blame, let it be me.”

“I blame neither of you,” Zarkon said simply. “My court was given strict orders not to harass you, orders Ranveig disobeyed. He and his clan will be punished accordingly.” Zarkon sighed, releasing Sendak and settling back. “I should have realized barring you from Lotor would only make him more tempting.”

Sendak sighed himself. “...I’ve always been contrary, sir.”

“Perhaps someone should take your place in the Breath of Fire movement when the Turn of the Cycle begins tomorrow,” Zarkon said. “Until this business with the assassins has been resolved, I do not want you in a position where you could come to harm.”

“What?” Sendak yelped, scrambling to his feet. “No! I’ve practiced nonstop for  _ movements _ , sir, I  _ want _ to do this--”

“I will not risk losing you!” Zarkon snapped back, standing himself, and Sendak felt small in his shadow, his ears lowering automatically. A pause. Zarkon relaxed his stance, making himself less threatening. “...It has been nearly a millennium since I last had an apprentice, and I do not wish you to come to harm at the hands of the court, as the last did. The risk is too great, Sendak.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Sendak said, feeling tears well up in his eye.

Zarkon heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping. “If the assassins situation is resolved this evening, I will allow it.”

Sendak leaned forward, resting his brow against Zarkon’s breastplate. “Thank you, sir,” he said softly.

A hand landed gently on the back of his head, petting over his ears, and Sendak squeezed his eyes shut and pressed closer. 

“......I have postponed this long enough,” Zarkon said quietly. Sendak tilted his head back, looking up at him in surprise. “Sendak, when I took you in, I only intended to claim you as my apprentice. These last movements, however, you have far surpassed any apprentice I have ever claimed. At the Turn of the Cycle, I intend to announce you again to the court, this time as my heir.”

“...Your heir, sir?” Sendak asked. His ruff rose, fluffing in anxious confusion--surely he’d misheard. Zarkon couldn’t possibly mean--

“My heir,” Zarkon repeated. “Should I fall in your lifetime, you will be trained to bear the mantle of Emperor after I am gone.”

“I…...I don’t know what to say, sir,” Sendak said quietly. “May I have a moment to clear my head?”

“You may,” Zarkon said simply. His hand stroked over the back of Sendak’s head one last time. Then he pulled away, stepping back to give Sendak space, and Sendak saluted hastily and fled for the elevator.

At this time of day, the observation deck would be empty. No one to watch him make a fool of himself, burning out the urge to  _ run _ , to  _ move _ , until everything made sense--

The doors opened, and he exploded out immediately, taking only a moment to make sure no one else was there before turning a one-handed cartwheel. He bounced back upright immediately, shadowboxing an imagined opponent, focusing on channeling the anxious energy surging through him into the correct forms. The room whirled around him, stars and steel and warm red lighting, unreal against the flames burning under his breastbone. He spun, again and again and again, dizzy and wild and burning, fit to tear the universe from its moorings--and staggered up against the glass of the windows. 

The cold shocked him out of his focus, and he slumped against the window, sliding down til he was seated on the floor, still panting for breath. The wild energy had faded, as quickly as it had come, and he let it go without resistance. His eye fell shut, and he let himself slide further down the window, only opening his eye again when he was flat on the floor to gaze up and out of the window.

Darkness greeted him, darkness and distant stars. The command system’s rings hung suspended out in the black, a thin silver band like a collar around the throat of the universe, far enough out to look still though he knew they spun at incredible speed to keep the artificial gravity inside constant. The dull red shine of one of the gas giants crept into the corner of the window as it orbited. Sendak knew how it felt, held in place by the gravity of something far greater than himself. How far had it come, from its original resting place in space to this artificial orbit? Would he find it, if he scoured Zarkon’s library long enough?

“......You’re not a gas planet, Sen,” he murmured into the silence. “It will be here longer than you will, anyway.”

The room didn’t answer, except for the faint echo of his words in the quiet space, and he pushed himself back upright, shaking his head and running his hand through his rumpled fur to smooth it back into place. He felt oddly distant, almost removed from his body.

_ Zarkon’s heir _ . It  _ had _ to be some cruel joke. No way would Zarkon……

“Sendak?” a voice called. A familiar one. Sendak shook his head, looking up, and jumped in surprise as he met Lotor’s dark eyes.

“Lotor?” he asked, ears twitching. “......I thought you went to retrieve your generals.”

“Acxa messaged me as I was en route,” Lotor replied. “They’re all back on the cruiser, which she has put into lockdown. They should be safe there. And if I am being followed, I don’t want to lead the assassins back with me.”

“Probably a good choice,” Sendak said ruefully.

“And you?” Lotor asked, making his way over. “What are you doing here all on your own?”

“......I need to think,” Sendak said. “Need to clear my head. I can’t do that in the royal apartments.”

Lotor hummed, offering Sendak his hand. “Walk with me?” he suggested.

Sendak reached up and clasped his forearm, letting Lotor pull him to his feet. “...Thank you,” he said softly in reply. He hesitated, then let go of Lotor’s hand, eyeing him thoughtfully. “So, where to?”

“Anywhere,” Lotor said. He bumped his shoulder against Sendak’s upper arm, herding him towards the door to the observation deck. “We’ll walk, and you’ll tell me what’s troubling you. Perhaps I can help you work through it.”

The doors hissed open at their approach, and Sendak sighed, deliberating. He wanted to tell Lotor, badly--Lotor  _ knew _ the court, and he knew Zarkon, he would surely understand--and yet, somehow, the idea made the skin at the nape of Sendak’s neck prickle uneasily. He stared up at the ceiling, at the arched supports overhead, all too aware of the weight of Lotor’s presence at his side.

“Did you know Zarkon wanted to make me his heir?” he asked at last, not daring to look at Lotor.

“I’m surprised you didn’t,” Lotor said. “It was obvious to me the moment I saw you in the throne room, at his right hand. I suppose that means he finally told you?”

“Yes,” Sendak said quietly. “I just...why would he want  _ me _ ?”

“Why  _ wouldn’t _ he?” Lotor asked. He took Sendak’s hand a moment later, squeezing it gently.

Sendak squeezed back reflexively and glanced sidelong at Lotor, then redirected his gaze to the floor. “......I’m not worthy of the position.”

Lotor’s grip tightened. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I  _ wish _ ,” Sendak replied, and pulled his hand free. “You know where I came from--twelve movements ago, I was  _ no one _ . I’m not from one of the high clans, I had no rank and no purpose, and--how could he want the likes of  _ me _ to take the throne after him? I’m less than worthless.”

“And why do you think  _ that _ ?” Lotor demanded. His hand landed on Sendak’s shoulder a moment later, spinning him to face him, and Sendak nearly shrank from the fury in his eyes.

“Because I’m  _ broken _ !” Sendak snapped back. “You wouldn’t take a sword with stress fractures into battle, not unless you have a death wish.”

“And you think my father has a death wish.” Lotor’s brows had arched again, skeptically.

“I think he doesn’t  _ know _ ,” Sendak said, and flattened his ears. “ _ I _ don’t know either--I can’t know, not until I’m tested again and I either stand or shatter--but I think it’s  _ stupid _ to rely on a damaged weapon.”

“Tell me,” Lotor demanded. 

“My last campaign,” Sendak snarled, lowering his voice. “I saved my crew. I won the day. And when my commander threw me in the brig, my arm was already dying on my body. I lay there for  _ quintants _ , smelling my own flesh  _ rot _ .”

Lotor’s eyes widened in horror. “Sendak--” he began, his voice much softer.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ pity me!” Sendak bellowed.

“I am  _ not _ !” Lotor shouted back. And then, before Sendak could respond, Lotor had grabbed his shoulders and shoved him backwards. His back struck the wall, and he froze, staring wide-eyed down at Lotor. Lotor glared back. “I would  _ never _ pity you,” he snapped.

“You--” Sendak started.

Lotor reached up and put a finger to his lips. “Shut up,” he said. If this is broken, Sendak, you would shake the stars from the firmament were you whole. If  _ this _ is broken, you are the  _ strongest _ person I have  _ ever _ met. My father knows it.  _ I _ know it. Everyone knows it but you--you  _ really _ think my father would choose wrongly? That I would--”

Lotor fell silent there, eyes widening, then flattened his ears and looked away.

“...That you would what?” Sendak asked, his voice soft.

Lotor hesitated a moment, his ears twitching. “......That I would desire someone too broken to stand alone,” he said quietly. “I want you, Sendak. I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you.”

Heat rushed to Sendak’s face and ears, and he ducked his head and looked away, flustered. “I…...oh,” he said softly, then looked back at Lotor, unable to hold his gaze. “ _ Me _ ?”

“You,” Lotor said. “No other. I love you, Sendak.”

Sendak hesitated, then reached up carefully and cupped Lotor’s cheek, his thumb tracing over the arch of a cheekbone. Lotor’s dark eyes were still wide, and more wary now, almost vulnerable.

“...May I kiss you?” Sendak asked.

“You may,” Lotor murmured.

Sendak surged down, wrapped his free arm around Lotor’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him on the mouth. Lotor kissed back, relinquishing his grip on Sendak’s shoulders to get fistfuls of the fur at his jawline, holding him fiercely. They broke the kiss, gasping, and Lotor dove back in immediately. Teeth clashed on teeth, Sendak slid his hand to the base of Lotor’s skull, Lotor seized the fur at the nape of Sendak’s neck and nipped fiercely at Sendak’s lower lip, drawing a startled moan from him.

They were both breathless by the time they broke the kiss, panting and shivering, and Sendak gave a faint, shaky mewl of relief as Lotor’s brow rested against his own. Lotor’s breath was hot against his face, and his scent was stronger, muskier, those dark eyes hooded and thoughtful. Something in Sendak’s chest ached fiercely at the look.

“I love you too, Lotor,” Sendak whispered, as soon as he had the breath.

“Good,” Lotor panted back, settling lower to nuzzle Sendak’s cheek.

“We’re going to be in  _ so _ much trouble. Zarkon warned me away from you again just before I left,” Sendak said.

“Funny,” Lotor replied. “The amount I care about my father’s approval is  _ inversely _ proportional to the amount of trouble we’ll be in.”

He leaned in again, stealing another, much gentler kiss, and Sendak wrapped his arms around Lotor’s waist to hold him close.


	4. Death by Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A current under sea_  
_Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell_  
_He passed the stages of his age and youth_  
_Entering the whirlpool. _  
\--T S Eliot, The Waste Land

The last Turn of the Cycle celebration Sendak had attended had been on Haxus’s home planet, two cycles earlier. It had been the last shore leave he’d been allowed to take, before his final campaign in the field, and the memory of it was still vivid. He could all but taste the tang of smoke from the bonfires in the back of his throat, feel the damp, humid air clotting the scent into his fur; could still see the rings of dancers around the pyre, wild leaping forms and the flash and clang of blade on blade; still felt Haxus clutching his hand to keep from being separated in the crowd. The celebration had gone whole planetary days without ceasing, the distant binary stars chasing each other across the sky until he’d lost his sense of time altogether.

He hadn’t remembered needing to be so dolled up for it.

Zarkon had warned him that several attendants would be dispatched to get him ready, but Sendak hadn’t at all anticipated being bundled into his en-suite bathroom nearly an hour earlier and ordered not to move unless prompted, while a trio of other Galra fussed over his appearance. They’d groomed him more thoroughly than he could recall ever having been groomed before, debating amongst themselves how to lay his overlong coat to hide the way it grew back the wrong direction over his scars, working scented oils into his fur until it gleamed like polished steel even in the dim lights. The last half-hour alone had been spent braiding small golden ornaments into his ruff and mane. His coat was too long for the traditional jewelry that accompanied his costume, they’d told him--which was a shame, according to the lead attendant, as it would have flattered the breadth of his shoulders. The ornaments were the best they could do on such short notice, but Sendak was pleased with the way they set his throat and chest shimmering like myriad tiny stars caught in his coat.

The lead attendant braided the last one into place at his collarbone, then stepped back and nodded approvingly, her sharp golden eyes raking over him from head to toe. 

“That should do,” she said. “The Emperor instructed us to leave your costume in your quarters for you, so I trust you should be able to handle them.”

And then she was gone, before Sendak could even thank her, bundling the others out of the room ahead of her.

Sendak sank against the counter a moment and shut his eyes as he caught his breath. His skin felt as if it were buzzing all across his body, wildly overstimulated from the constant contact, and in the enclosed space the heady scent of the oils was beginning to make his head spin. He forced himself to straighten again, studying himself in the mirror a moment, then slid his holopad out of the drawer he’d hidden it in and snapped a picture of himself to send to Haxus.

Haxus, true to form, messaged back immediately.

_hax | :eyes:_  
_ hax | looking good love  
hax | sparkly. i like_

_ Sendak | thanks, Hax _

He hesitated a moment, then sent the same picture to Lotor, with a caption this time.

_ Sendak | {image file attached} _

_ Sendak | what do you think? _

_ Lotor | I’m coming over immediately. _

Sendak flushed, shutting down the holopad and hurrying out into his main quarters to dress--and stopped cold when he reached his bed, his jaw dropping at the sight of the clothing laid out for him.

The traditional dress for the dancer in the part of the goddess Ahulra was red and gold--Sendak recalled the leaping silhouette of the one at the last ceremony he had attended--but he’d never seen one like this before, crimson blending into fiery oranges and vibrant yellows along the bottom edge, which hung to his knees when he held it up for inspection. The cloth shimmered in the light, smooth and silken under his touch. Zarkon had accounted for everything, it seemed--impossible, that this light-as-air dress would catch or snag his fur to tangle it. He slipped it on, spinning a moment and grinning wildly as the skirt flared out around him, dancing like flames about his thighs. 

The overskirt was finer than the one he remembered, broad panels of thin, light titanium anodized red and gold in a style he recognized from the early chapters of the Historia. They’d been common in uniforms pre-contact, but had gone out of fashion since. The waistband fit snugly at his waist, the plates clinking with each movement. He looped the flame-colored sash neatly over the band, lashing it in place with the traditional god-hands knot, then sat himself on the edge of the bed to wind the ribbons about his calves, knotting them the same way below his knees, then stood back up, lifting himself to tiptoe and stretching, feeling the ribbons flex.

Then he turned back towards the bed, lifting the last piece of the outfit--a fine, translucent cape, shimmering deepest crimson at the throat and brilliant, lustrous yellow along the edge. The cape too shone in the light. On closer inspection it had been woven through with metallic threads, reflecting brilliantly golden in the dimness. He fastened it about his shoulders and draped across his left arm, as was traditional, admiring the way it half-concealed his prosthetic beneath it. The sheer, gleaming fabric helped disguise the unnaturalness of the limb, where it would have been obvious without his armor to hide the join where steel met flesh.

He’d barely finished dressing when the door hissed open behind him, and someone--Lotor, he knew by scent alone--gave a startled gasp.

“You look _ ravishing _, Sendak,” Lotor said. His voice was hushed, awed.

“It’s been a while since anyone did _ that _,” Sendak replied, turning around.

Lotor’s cheeks blazed blue, his mouth gaping open, and Sendak took the opportunity to look him over. The prince’s costume was also more ornate than the one Sendak remembered--he certainly didn’t recall the black breastplate and pauldrons on the shadow dancers at the last celebration he’d attended, or the armored skirt. Both seemed faintly iridescent in the dim light of his quarters, enough to make Sendak eager to see it in motion. The dark tunic and leggings were familiar, but the material was finer, and shaded from nearly black to pale blue from one hem to the other. Deep violet ribbons wound their way down Lotor’s forearms, knotting at his wrists, where his sleeves flared widely. His cape and sash both shone like starlight, a mere shade darker than his hair, which tumbled in freshly-combed waves about his shoulders.

Lotor shook his head and recovered, reaching up to try and scrub the blush from his face. “Such a _ vulgar _ thing for someone so lovely to say.”

Sendak chuckled. “You shouldn’t have left me the opportunity, then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Lotor said ruefully, making his way over to study Sendak more closely. He reached up, toying thoughtfully with one of the ornaments braided into Sendak’s ruff. “You really sat there and let them braid each and every one of these in, hm?”

“Letting someone stitch up your arm is _ much _ less pleasant to sit through,” Sendak replied. “I’d take this a dozen times over than deal with that.”

“That’s fair,” Lotor replied, releasing the ornament. He placed his hands on Sendak’s chest and pushed him back gently, until the edge of the bed hit the back of Sendak’s knees and he sat down with a bump, leaving just enough space between his legs for Lotor to fit himself between and lean up for a kiss. His fingers fiddled idly with the knot on Sendak’s sash.

Sendak reached down and took his hand once he’d broken the kiss, resting his brow against Lotor’s.

“_ After _ the dancing,” he said. “I don't want to have to get cleaned up and ready all over again.”

Lotor chuckled and stole a second kiss. “Tease,” he murmured.

“Am I not allowed to tease? We have all the time in the universe, once I’ve fulfilled my obligations,” Sendak murmured back.

Lotor arched a brow skeptically, but stole a third kiss and pressed his brow against Sendak’s instead of answering. Sendak hummed, reaching up to run his fingers through Lotor’s hair and studying the fine, pale waves thoughtfully.

“Are you planning to do anything with this?” he asked, tugging gently at a lock.

“I washed it and combed it,” Lotor replied, shrugging.

Sendak huffed. “You’re not going to put it up?”

Lotor scowled, avoiding his gaze, and muttered, “It looks _ fine _ down, and I don’t care to put in the effort…”

“You never learned to do your own hair, did you.”

“...No,” Lotor admitted, meeting Sendak’s eyes a moment before looking away.

Sendak chuckled, tugging gently at Lotor until he climbed onto the bed as well, then moved to sit behind him, carding his fingers through Lotor’s hair. “Then would you mind if I braided it for you? I think it would look very nice like that…”

Lotor sighed, shoving a stray lock back over his shoulder; Sendak resisted the urge to lay a kiss at the nape of his neck. “...Oh, alright. I don’t see any harm in it…”

Sendak hummed in reply, already separating the hair at his crown into three sections to braid. It slid fine as silk through his fingers, still faintly damp, and perfumed with Lotor’s scent. Without the tang of blood clouding his nose or Lotor’s suit blocking his scent, Sendak could discern his scent clearly: rich musk, layered over with unfamiliar spices. He struggled to keep from burying his nose in Lotor’s mane, focusing himself on weaving the strands into each other.

“...So where did someone like you learn to braid, anyway?” Lotor asked, an ear twitching back towards Sendak. He hesitated a moment, then said hastily, “--I don’t mean to be rude, but I know the military keeps certain grooming requirements…”

“I’m not offended,” Sendak replied. “You’re right, the grooming requirements are fairly strict for the lower ranks--this is the longest I’ve been allowed to keep my fur in...as long as I can remember. One of my partner’s cousins had their crest grown out last time I went home with him, though, and the younger ones roped me into learning to braid there.” He pushed two sections of Lotor’s hair forward over his shoulders again, separating them out, and began plaiting the remaining one into a smaller braid. “...Why didn’t _ you _ learn to braid your own hair? It seems like this would be a lot to deal with all the time, especially loose like this.”

“It is,” Lotor said ruefully. “Father used to braid it for me, when I was small, and then my Dayak did, but...well, it’s not as if a Dayak teaches you something as…..._ beneath oneself _ as braiding,” Lotor said. His tone was sharp and resentful.

“...Just what _ is _ a Dayak, anyway?” Sendak asked, tilting his head even though he knew Lotor couldn’t see him. “I’ve heard the term thrown around, but I’m not familiar with it.”

Lotor barked a laugh. “Oh, be _ grateful _ you can ask that.” He _ definitely _ sounded bitter now, ears flicking, shoulders hunching ever so slightly. “A Dayak is the _ worst _ thing that can happen to a cub, I will stand by that until the end of my days.”

“That...doesn’t answer my question.” Sendak finished the plait and pulled the other two sections back around, weaving them in and out of each other.

“I suppose you could call a Dayak a governess,” Lotor said, shoulders slumping. “The most influential clans hire them to raise and train their scions for the court, to instruct them in maths and sciences, in history, in the arts, and above all in combat, all to win their lines greater prestige and a better shot at a place on the council or in high command when those scions come of age.” He sighed heavily. “And the teaching is _ brutal _ . I don’t know what the present methods are, but while I was under a Dayak...well. _ Palen-bol _.”

Sendak winced. “Sounds like my instructors, but they had more people to inflict it on and no one to berate them if they injured a cub. They weren’t above crippling their charges if we stepped out of line and forcing us to try to keep up like that. And if you couldn’t keep up, you were culled.” He finished the braid, pulling one of the ornaments in his fur free and tying it off with that.

He didn’t realize Lotor had frozen until the prince took a deep, shuddering breath and turned around. His eyes had gone dark, brows creased unhappily, and before Sendak could say anything, he reached up to touch the scar crossing his brow. Sendak nearly flinched from it, but Lotor’s hands were gentle, and after a moment’s hesitation he leaned into the touch.

“I’m so sorry you had to endure that,” Lotor said softly. His fingers traced the arc of the scar, and Sendak _ did _ flinch when they reached the ridge of his brow. Too close to the orbital socket for comfort, even with the prosthetic occupying it.

“It was a long time ago, and it didn’t kill me. I’m past it,” Sendak replied, tilting his head away from Lotor’s hand.

“It should never have happened in the first place,” Lotor said, eyes narrowing.

“Lots of things that should never happen _ do _ , every single day,” Sendak said, ears twitching irritably. “Besides, it’s not as if it _ got _ me culled. I’m too stubborn to die like that, and it means I’m well accustomed to working from a deficit.”

“You have to fight twice as hard as everyone else to match them, even if your skill is twice theirs,” Lotor said, and Sendak nodded. “I know _ that _ as well as you do. Combat can be...difficult, when your reach is half everyone else’s.”

Sendak nodded thoughtfully. “...You know, I had expected you to be bigger, when Zarkon told me who you were.”

“Everyone does,” Lotor said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a wry smile. “Unfortunately, I inherited my mother’s stature.”

“I wouldn’t call it _ unfortunate _.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“Cute.”

Lotor huffed, ears flattening in mock offense. “_ Cute _? Not on your life.”

“You _ are _,” Sendak protested.

“No. There’s only _ one _ cute person in this room--” Lotor surged upwards, knocking Sendak back into the pillows and moving to straddle his waist. “--And that would be _ you _.”

“Agree to disagree?” Sendak offered.

“Brat,” Lotor said, but his tone was affectionate.

Sendak grinned, hinting at teeth, and pushed himself upright, easily shifting Lotor out of his lap. “It’s part of the appeal. Come on, we have a celebration to attend, and Zarkon will _ skin _ me if I’m late.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Lotor said, but he pushed himself upright as well, hopping off the bed and extending a hand to Sendak to help him up in turn. “You’re his _ favorite _. He wouldn’t allow you to come to harm, much less inflict it himself.”

“Perhaps I exaggerated, but he certainly won’t be pleased,” Sendak said, letting Lotor pull him to his feet. “He’ll make me run drills until my arms fall off.”

“What, both of them?” Lotor asked. He laced his fingers through Sendak’s, bumping his shoulder against Sendak’s upper arm.

“Depends on how late we are.”

“Then we should go--I like your arms _ right _ where they are.”

Sendak arched a brow, unable to help the grin spreading across his face. “What, both of them?”

“_ Brat _,” Lotor repeated, bumping his hip against Sendak’s thigh. “Come. Let’s go.”

Sendak chuckled and let Lotor escort him from his quarters, out into the empty common room and over to the elevators, never letting go of his hand. Something wild and light bubbled up under his sternum--he’d been anticipating this evening, the dancing, without even realizing it, and now that it was here he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He bounced up onto the balls of his feet, shifting restlessly from one to the other and watching the display on the wall count down the floors.

“Nervous?” Lotor asked.

“Excited,” Sendak said, shaking his head.

Lotor hummed. “You know this evening’s schedule better than I do, I suspect.”

“We have almost a varga before the ceremony begins,” Sendak replied. “Zarkon wants me by his side until then--there were a few field commanders he wanted to introduce me to, and he plans to have me announced to the court as his heir this evening and doesn’t want me to be mobbed by...unscrupulous sorts looking to get a leg up. And you’ve got a dance before I do, the Waking Shadow movement precedes the Breath of Fire movement.”

“As usual,” Lotor replied, rolling his eyes. “At least the principal dancers for the Shadow and Fire movements are different--I don’t want to wear myself out dancing before I’ve had my dance with you.”

“You’d better not,” Sendak said. “Dance or not, if you can’t keep up with me I’ll mop the floor with you.”

“And what a _ pleasure _ that would be,” Lotor said, laughing.

Sendak snorted. “Somehow, I’m surprised you’d be into that.”

“Only from you,” Lotor said.

“Then I’m honored,” Sendak said, and turned to face Lotor fully--

\--Lotor surged upwards, grabbing Sendak’s shoulders to pull him down for a kiss. Sendak let him, kissing back fervently, and almost whined when Lotor released him to breathe. Lotor’s pupils were blown, dilated to fill his irises almost entirely, his lips still parted. Sendak leaned in, pressing their brows together as he caught his breath, and leaned in again, just in time for the elevator to jolt to a stop and knock their noses together. He sprang back, and Lotor did the same, hastily straightening rumpled clothing as the doors hissed open.

The halls outside thronged with people. Soldiers in both civilian clothes and uniforms, of all ranks, mingled with commanders and clan heads in finery in pairs or clusters, clogging the hallway so tightly Sendak almost felt his chest constricting. He grabbed for Lotor’s hand, some part of him wishing he were smaller, small enough to hide against his side. Lotor’s grip tightened in response, and he leaned his shoulder against Sendak’s arm, steering him out of the crowd. His thumb caressed Sendak’s, comfortingly.

“It’s alright,” Lotor murmured. “I’ll take you to Father. No one will touch you before we reach him.”

“Thank you,” Sendak whispered back. He glanced out over Lotor’s head at the throng, feeling oddly exposed and out of place in his fiery skirts. Some part of him longed, desperately, for his armor. For the weight of it, for the solidity and security of the metal around him.

“No need to thank me,” Lotor replied, and tugged gently at Sendak’s hand, leading him through the crowd.

They reached the doors to the ballroom in doboshes, passed through unaccosted--the guards on either side stiffened at the sight of them, saluting immediately--and emerged into the ballroom proper. Sendak couldn’t help stopping to gape, even as Lotor tugged at him to keep moving. The walls were hung with banners, the high ceilings draped with them, all shining red and gold and orange and yellow. Music filled the air, strings and woodwinds and drum beats, and it took Sendak a tick to locate the live orchestra--_ live _\--playing along the far side of the room.

The ballroom, too, thronged with people--more commanders’ uniforms here, Sendak noted, mixed in with people in the red and orange dresses of fire dancers and the black and blue of shadow dancers. It took far too long for him to locate Zarkon, but there he was on the dais after all, standing before a large chair and inspecting a holopad on the wrist of a much shorter soldier in a subcommander’s uniform. Lotor tugged at Sendak’s hand again, leading him forward, and they reached the dais just as the subcommander left.

“Father,” Lotor said, inclining his head to Zarkon.

Zarkon nodded back, and Sendak felt his gaze rake over the pair of them. “I am _ pleased _ to see you on time for once, Lotor,” Zarkon replied, his tone amused. “I take it Sendak is responsible for this improvement.”

Lotor huffed and looked away, scowling. “We would have made it down before the dancing started,” he muttered.

“No, we wouldn’t have,” Sendak said.

“_ Traitor _,” Lotor hissed.

“He already _ knew _\--” Sendak started, but he quieted when Zarkon cleared his throat.

“Not in public,” Zarkon rebuked.

“Sorry,” Lotor said tersely, looking away. His small ears had flattened against the sides of his head. “......Would that I could stay with you--I have to make sure my generals arrived alright.” His gaze met Sendak’s, and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll see you when the dancing begins,” he said, and then spun on his heel and ran off, vanishing into the crowd.

Sendak’s heart sank down to somewhere near his toes, and he found himself shrinking closer to Zarkon’s side. That anxious, unarmored feeling swelled again in his chest, almost enough to make him want to run for it.

A hand came to rest on his upper back, and Zarkon said quietly, “At ease, Sendak. No one will harm you here.”

“....I know, sir,” Sendak replied, just as quietly. “I’m just…...unnerved. I’ve never been out unarmored like this before.”

Zarkon hummed softly. “You have nothing to fear here. Anyone attempting to lay hands on you will face my wrath.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sendak said. He had to resist the urge to lean against Zarkon for comfort--not here in public, neither of them could afford to show such weakness. Zarkon was already pushing it by steadying him as he did.

The hand on his back applied slight pressure, and Sendak turned, letting himself be led towards the chair. Zarkon settled into it, and Sendak took his place at his right hand almost automatically--and somehow that was comforting, a little order restored to the universe.

The room filled slowly. Groups of people filtered in through the open doors, the clan heads and commanders and more and more dancers by the dobosh, dark and fiery alike, scattering themselves across the ballroom. Sendak watched, noting the patterns in how people moved, always on the lookout for familiar faces. He spotted Zethrid once, moving through the crowd, but she was quickly hidden again. None of the other generals, or Lotor himself, were anywhere in evidence, and something about that set him on edge.

Neither, he noticed a dobosh later, was Haggar. The place at Zarkon’s left hand she usually occupied was empty.

He turned towards Zarkon, about to ask about it, but at that moment an unfamiliar person joined them on the dais, and Sendak nearly retreated, eyeing the newcomer warily.

Zarkon, on the other hand, was unfazed. “Commander Gnov,” he said in greeting, inclining his head.

“My lord,” the newcomer--Gnov--replied, saluting him. 

Her ears twitched towards Sendak, and he steeled himself and returned her stare, studying her warily. She stood nearly as tall as he did, broad-shouldered and muscular with a piercing stare that spoke of long experience assessing strangers. She wore commander’s armor done in a style Sendak didn’t recognize, and a cape he _ knew _ was outside uniform regulations, glossy black on the outside and shimmering orange on the inside. The ends of her crest curled around her ears like horns, the points nearly level with her eyes. Sendak averted his own, looking down respectfully.

“Your apprentice, I take it?” she asked, and the rustle of fabric on steel said Zarkon sat forward in his seat at the question.

“Indeed,” he replied. “My apprentice, Sendak.” He cleared his throat, and Sendak looked up, startled. “Sendak, this is Commander Gnov of Clan Bertilak, my head of operations in the field. She has agreed to return to Central Command to assist with your training for the next half-cycle.”

“--It’s an honor,” Sendak replied hastily, extending a hand towards her.

Gnov clasped his forearm in return. “The honor is mine,” she replied. “I look forward to seeing what you’re capable of.”

“He has already made impressive strides from the condition in which I received him,” Zarkon said, and Gnov released Sendak’s arm to return her attention to Zarkon.

“I can see that,” Gnov said, her tone dryly amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a scion of one of the high clans.”

“I _ have _ claimed him as my own, you know,” Zarkon replied, equally dry.

Gnov hummed in response, glancing back out at the ballroom. “And where’s the other? I heard you invited Lotor back as well.”

“Causing trouble, no doubt,” Zarkon said. “He insists on participating in the dancing every time I invite him into Central Command, and was especially adamant on it this time.”

“No wonders there,” Gnov said, “not when you have Sendak dancing as well.”

“He nearly didn’t allow it after all,” Sendak said, then froze when their eyes fell on him. He’d spoken out of turn, he knew it immediately.

Gnov nodded. “I heard you had a scare with assassins yesterday.”

Sendak relaxed slightly. So he was allowed to participate in these conversations, after all.

“The matter was cleared up seven vargas ago,” Zarkon said. “Clan Verrat spared only the expense for three assassins, and not with any sort of strategy.”

“That’s what happens when a _ trade clan _ with more GAC than sense hires assassins,” Gnov scoffed.

“Must be a wide gap between their coffers and their common sense, then,” Sendak said, and concealed a delighted grin when Gnov chuckled.

“Trade clans usually have the two in inverse proportions,” she replied.

“Unfortunately, Clan Verrat contributes enough to the war effort that I cannot discharge Warlord Ranveig for his slight without renegotiating their agreement with the throne,” Zarkon said.

“Clan Myvoknera might not be a bad choice to replace them,” Gnov said. “I’ve heard their first scion is making a name for himself.”

“He received a promotion to command status half a cycle ago,” Zarkon said. “I would have invited him to Central Command before now, but more pressing matters arose in the interim that required my attention.” He shot a sidelong glance at Sendak, and Sendak perked up in response. _ More pressing matters _ . _ He _ was more important to Zarkon than the scion of a powerful clan.

“Before now?” Gnov asked, a brow arching.

“He is, of course, in Central Command for the Turn of the Cycle,” Zarkon replied. “Feyiv is en route from Myvoknera’s ancestral territories. It was more efficient to have their scion escort the Archivist here for the ceremonies.”

“Of course,” Gnov said, nodding. “And his clan head?”

“In tow, I suspect,” Zarkon said. “I will discuss the matter at hand with her after this evening’s festivities conclude.”

Sendak tuned out then, scanning the crowd again. More commanders had joined the groups around the room; half of high command had to be here, and Sendak had to wonder how they justified it. The clan heads seemed to favor each other’s company, their subdued robes dominating a few knots of people scattered about the room. The cluster of fire dancers had been joined by dozens of others in varying costumes--the other elemental dancers, for the four movements to follow the Breath of Fire--the lot of them arrayed in gold and green, in blue and white and violet, all mingled with the dark clothing of the shadow dancers. They’d all masked up, Sendak noticed, dark hoods and sleek black masks covering everything above their mouths, save for the eyes. If Lotor was among them, at this distance Sendak would never know. With his height, even a single person standing between him and the dais would hide him.

A ripple of purposeful movement among the milling crowd caught Sendak’s eye--a single person, nearer to the edge of the room, making their way towards the dais. They were pretty clearly struggling, he noted, seemingly buffeted about by the people around them, and small wonder. They were the _ thinnest _ Galra he’d ever seen, beyond a shadow of a doubt. The wide shoulders and bulky armor on their torso looked almost comically outsized on their lanky frame.

“Speak of the shade you wish to cast, I suppose,” Gnov said behind him, and Sendak jumped, wheeling about to face her. Her ears were tilted towards the crowd, towards the newcomer. “That’s Myvoknera’s scion, there.”

“...Is there anything you can tell me about him?” Sendak asked quietly.

Gnov’s brows lifted, wry mouth quirking into a smirk. “No. I’ve never met him myself,” she said. “But keep asking questions. You’ll go far on that.”

Sendak opened his mouth to ask her what she meant by that, but the newcomer reached the dais as he did, long legs taking the steps with ease, and came to an abrupt halt at the top. His ears twitched up, golden eyes widening--the stripes on his face only enhanced the quizzical surprise on his features as he took Sendak in. Sendak studied him back, eyeing his slouched posture and thin, sharp features, and found himself unimpressed. The arch of the newcomer’s brows said he likely felt the same.

He turned to Zarkon and saluted, one fist coming to rest over his heart. “Lord Zarkon,” he said, his voice strongly accented--not High Galra, like most of high command’s accents, more likely some regional pidgin dialect. “It is a great honor to be invited to the Imperial ceremonies for the Turn of the Cycle. Clan Myvoknera expresses our gratitude.”

“It is my pleasure,” Zarkon rumbled back, “and a pleasure to meet their first scion. Commander Throk, is it not?”

The newcomer inclined his head. “It is indeed, my lord.” His ears flicked towards Sendak. “And a greater pleasure to receive this honor now; even a house as far removed as my own has heard of your occupation with your new apprentice.”

Zarkon hummed in response. “I have waited a millennium to train someone like him,” he replied, and inclined his head to Sendak, tilting it just so. Sendak hurried to his side immediately, nodding a greeting to Throk as he did. “Commander Throk; my apprentice, Sendak of Clan Kalahar, second scion of House Daibazaal.”

Throk inclined his head in greeting and offered his hand. “Throk of Clan Myvoknera. It is a _ pleasure _ to meet you,” he said.

Sendak hesitated a moment, then clasped his forearm in return. “Likewise.”

Throk looked down at their hands, then back up at Sendak’s face, and it was impossible to miss the faint curl of his upper lip. He released his grip quickly, stepping back away, and Sendak glanced sidelong at Zarkon, hoping for support, but the Emperor’s attention had returned to Gnov, their heads bowed together in conversation.

“I will admit, I hadn’t anticipated you being quite so....tall,” Throk said, looking Sendak over. “You looked smaller in the broadcast of your court introduction.”

“I _ was _ standing beside Emperor Zarkon,” Sendak said, and shrugged his shoulders slightly. “And cameras rarely flatter me, at any rate.”

“_ That _ is readily apparent,” Throk replied. He straightened somewhat and began to circle, and Sendak held himself still. “And I expect the court’s many rumors flatter you _ less _?”

“Do the court’s rumors flatter anyone?” Sendak asked, flicking his ears dismissively.

“No,” Throk said flatly. “None of them even approaches the truth, and I have _ done _ the research. Is it true you were part of the Sekir campaign?”

Sendak glanced at Zarkon again, and when no help was forthcoming, he closed the gap with Throk to speak more quietly with him. “There _ was _ a reason Emperor Zarkon sealed my files, Commander Throk, and it is perhaps in your best interest and mine to limit the spread of that information.”

Throk snorted. “I have no interest in airing your background--frankly, Clan Myvoknera owes you our thanks for removing Commander Yurak from his post. I’ve assumed control of his old posting, and I have been informed that Lord Zarkon has interest in removing certain other commanders from _ their _ posts, in the wake of whatever information you provided for him.”

“...There are a fair number of expansion commanders who should never have been given those posts in the first place,” Sendak replied.

“I thought as much,” Throk said, with finality. He laid a hand on Sendak’s shoulder and leaned in, until he spoke directly into Sendak’s ear. “You and I, perhaps...could be very useful to one another, Sendak.”

“Perhaps,” Sendak agreed, and glanced sidelong at Zarkon again, jolting in surprise as he realized the Emperor was looking at them. “...And perhaps we should continue this conversation later. Your clan head is supposed to be meeting with Lord Zarkon after this evening’s festivities--if all goes well, I would like to speak with you then.”

“Excellent,” Throk said, and squeezed Sendak’s shoulder. “I shall see you then.”

He stepped back, then, and bowed to Zarkon before bounding off the dais and vanishing into the crowd. Sendak stared after him, feeling rather shell-shocked.

“Sendak?” Zarkon called, drawing his attention, and Sendak turned reluctantly towards him.

“...Yes, sir?” he asked.

“It’s good to see you making allies,” Zarkon said simply, gesturing for him to come over.

“I...suppose so?” Sendak replied, and make his way to Zarkon’s side. “That didn’t exactly..._ feel _ like making an ally, but…”

“If he messes with you, let me know,” Gnov chimed in. Her eyes shone wickedly. “I’ll break his arm for it.”

“Gnov,” Zarkon reproached.

Gnov huffed. “Look alive, sir. The Archivist is coming, and you have a ceremony to oversee.”

Zarkon rumbled a disapproving note deep in his chest, but faced forward anyway, and Sendak hurried back to his side, straightened himself, and turned to face the ballroom.

The crowd had parted down the middle of the ballroom, dancers clustered on either side, warriors and civilians alike standing at attention. The oldest Galra Sendak had ever seen walked down the center of the opening, still standing tall and straight despite their age, despite the respirator covering the lower half of their face, despite the bulk of armor rounded out with some unfamiliar medical apparatus, two luminous containers of refined quintessence protruding from the back of their breastplate. They wore dark ceremonial robes beneath, covering them to the floor, and a crimson tabard laid overtop.

Their steps were unsteady as they ascended the dais, but they required no assistance, and came to a halt mere paces from the throne. Zarkon rose to greet them, forearm extended for them to clasp.

“Archivist,” Zarkon said, his tone...almost reverent. He inclined his head in greeting.

“Emperor,” the Archivist rasped, returning his nod. They turned slightly, and the weight of their gaze came to rest on Sendak. His knees nearly buckled beneath it, before their attention returned to Zarkon. “Mind in your forging,” they said, voice lowered for Zarkon’s ears alone, though Sendak couldn’t help but overhear, “that your blade keep a flexible core, lest it become too brittle to wield.”

“I shall,” Zarkon replied simply.

The Archivist glanced over Sendak one last time, then turned to face the ballroom and spread their arms, palms uplifted, and waited for silence to fall. And fall it did, one hushed voice at a time, until the room was quiet save for the faint hum of the ship at work around them.

“All things in the universe rise and fall,” the Archivist said. Their voice carried, despite the respirator, and something deeper than blood and bone told Sendak even those in the far corners of the room could hear them. “Each grows and burns in its own time, and even the mightiest stars must fall to burn anew.”

The room hummed with agreement.

“As all things must, the old cycle too must burn, and the new rise greater from the ash. We do not mourn,” declared the Archivist. They raised their hands further. “The Galra Empire, too, shall rise. Many great sieges broke this cycle, to rise again in the ranks of the Empire.”

A quiet murmur ran about the room, and Sendak joined in, the old refrain heavy on his lips. “We honor the fallen; may their flames burn ever bright.”

The Archivist spoke again. “And yet, as the Empire grows greater, stronger too must be the shoulders to bear the burden. His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Zarkon of Clan Kalahar, first and grandest scion of his house, son of Zavira of the same line, the Lord of Daibazaal, Commander of the Grand Host of the Galra Empire, Ruler of a Thousand Worlds, has claimed for his own an heir to the Galra Throne, to aid him in all endeavors, and to succeed him should he fall in the coming cycles.”

One upraised hand swept to the side, coming to a halt in front of Sendak. The room’s attention followed, the weight of a thousand eyes bearing down on him, and Sendak felt exposed and foolish, like a child caught somewhere he shouldn’t be playing. His intestines began tying themselves in knots.

“His Imperial Highness, Prince Sendak of Clan Kalahar, second scion of House Daibazaal, found-son of Emperor Zarkon of the same line, Apprentice and Heir to the Imperial Seat.”

Silence.

The room exploded into cheers.

The Archivist said something else, but Sendak didn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. His head spun, the room whirling around him like a fighter in a tailspin, and if Gnov hadn’t taken his elbow at that exact moment he might have collapsed. _ Heir _.

It still seemed impossible. Even more impossible that the whole court would applaud his ascension--an interloper among the high clans, raised to the second-highest seat in the Empire.

“Sendak,” Zarkon said, his voice so low as to be nearly inaudible. Sendak turned towards him, blinking up at him in surprise, and straightened immediately. Zarkon looked _ pleased _, his eyes creased fondly at the corners, the hard line of his mouth softened.

“Sir,” Sendak replied, lifting his chin, and Zarkon hummed in response.

“Sit,” Zarkon said. “The Waking Shadows movement begins. There is no need for you to remain standing.”

“Yes, sir,” Sendak replied.

The lights were already dimming. The Archivist had left the dais while Sendak hadn’t been paying attention--_ alarmingly _ swift, for a Galra of their age--and the center of the ballroom was clearing, making space for the dark-clad shadow dancers to move into position. Their armor flashed in the low light, rippling with color. Sendak seated himself on the steps of the dais, watching wide-eyed. The Waking Shadows was an unarmed dance, Sendak remembered that much. He’d never danced it before, though, and he hardly remembered it from the last one he’d seen.

He didn’t have long to wait.

Silence fell.

Somewhere in the darkness, a string was struck.

The drums followed, slow and deep and resonant, echoing ever louder on the walls, and when the strings began again the dancers leapt into action. The iridescence dazzled, blurring separate forms into one another as the dancers leapt, spun, wove--in and out of each other, swift and formless as shadow. The mass separated and clashed back together, light flaring from brilliant, whirling capes. Apart. Spun, whirled, leapt, nameless forms woven all together, the strings stinging higher and higher and cymbals crashing as the dancers struck spark without flame.

Sendak glanced sidelong at Zarkon, and, at a nod from the Emperor, silently retrieved his blade from its hiding place beneath the throne.

The other fire dancers were moving. Sendak slipped from the dais, moving along the edge of the crowd until he reached them, and stood waiting for the music to change key.

The tempo changed, drums pounding frenetically, and Sendak scanned the whirling knot of shadow dancers. Lotor was in there. He had to be, somewhere, hidden amid the crowd. Not that Sendak would have recognized him, masked and hooded, but when the time came--

\--A dancer leapt forth from the crowd, towards the knot of fire dancers. There was a blade in their hand, long, straight, naked steel, and Sendak _ knew _ that slight frame.

The strings stung again, and Sendak leapt forward, his sword coming to bear against Lotor’s. The impact rang up his forearm. He bared his teeth and ignored it. Disengaged his blade. Spun through the next step. Their swords clashed again. Block. Parry.

He whirled the blade about his head in great loops, each clash with Lotor’s sword throwing sparks. Some dim part of him recognized the surge of the fire dancers about them, moving among the shadow dancers, the ring of steel on steel keeping time with the pounding of the drums. With the beat of his bare feet on the floor, with the rush of blood in his ears. He sprang airborne again, spinning and leaping, and the world narrowed to Lotor’s blade as they clashed again. His feet followed the patterns Lotor’s set, pursuing, chasing him back the way he’d come.

The music changed pitch. Louder. More frenetic. He let the drums take him, spinning and whirling in time, each clash of swords ringing until it drowned out the thunder of his heartbeat. Lotor sprang back, falling away, and Sendak leapt after him--

His ankle twisted on his landing. Pain lanced up his leg, and he hit the floor hard, his sword skittering from his grasp. Someone nearby shrieked, and he wasn’t sure if it was him. The music came to a halt.

Sendak braced against the floor with his prosthetic forearm--his organic arm shuddered when he put weight on it, refusing to bear him--and pushed himself upright, shaking his head to clear it. His ears were ringing. Something was wrong, some unfamiliar scent clouding his nostrils. Out of place. A pair of boots stopped just inside his field of vision. He lifted his head to look up, half expecting Lotor to already be reaching down to help him to his feet.

Lotor stood over him, unmoving, sword at the ready, and Sendak shrank instinctively. The set of his mouth was grim, not at all the concern Sendak had expected. His eyes followed the sword as Lotor raised it, almost uncomprehending. The blade’s edges glinted in the light, hard as the flat, baleful yellow eyes glaring out at him from the mask--

\--A dark shape cannoned into the figure’s side, slamming them out of the way before the sword could fall. Sendak flinched. 

The figure--the false Lotor--came to a halt a few paces away, and the attacker bounded back, starlight-pale braid whipping like a striking snake. 

Lotor. 

The prince sank back on his heels in a defensive stance, blade poised, and Sendak could hear the low snarl rumbling in his throat.

“Don’t you _ dare _ touch him,” Lotor growled.

The false Lotor hissed, but didn’t answer, circling Lotor as if to pass him, and Sendak cast about for his sword. It was well out of reach--not close to the doppelganger, but far enough that moving to grab it would put him out of Lotor’s protective shadow, and Sendak held himself still. His heart hammered frantically in his chest. He was unarmored, and now unarmed. Too vulnerable, in this thin, fine dress. What he would have given for so much as a breastplate now.

The doppelganger lunged. Lotor threw his sword up, parrying the blow. Slammed them backwards and braced for the next blow, glowering.

“Who sent you?” he snapped.

Again, the doppelganger didn’t answer, circling again, and Sendak rose warily to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his ankle. Lotor spared him a glance, and there was the concern Sendak had hoped for, his lower lip pursed with worry. Then his gaze snapped away, and he lunged--

His sword slammed home in the doppelganger’s abdomen.

Or it would have, if they hadn’t vanished in a burst of black, foul-scented smoke at that very moment.

_ Druid _.

Sendak shrank, ears flattening nervously, and cast about for it. It had to be somewhere, somewhere close.

A flash caught in the corner of his eye, the right side. He spun, throwing his prosthetic up. The druid’s blade caught on his forearm, and he winced, the force of the blow slamming up into his shoulder. He shoved back. The druid staggered.

Lotor was on it in an instant. His boot slammed into the side of the druid’s knee. There was a resounding crunch. The thing dropped. Lotor’s sword flashed.

There was another burst of foul, lab-scented smoke, larger this time, choking. When it cleared, Lotor stood over a long, black scorch mark on the ballroom floor. The whole room was deathly silent. Lotor turned back towards him, his sword clattering from his hand, and Sendak lunged forward.

Lotor caught him first, grabbing Sendak’s shoulders and kissing him savagely. His touch was harsh enough to bruise, and Sendak’s lips parted under the force of the kiss, whimpering against Lotor’s hot, fierce mouth. He got an arm around Lotor’s waist, clinging. Lotor broke the kiss, gasping, and Sendak scarcely had time to draw breath before Lotor claimed his lips again, releasing his shoulder to cup his cheek and pull him in.

“_ Ahulra have mercy _,” Lotor panted, breaking the kiss again. “I thought I might have lost you.”

“I’m fine,” Sendak murmured back. “Are you--”

Lotor hushed him, tilting his head to the side, and it hit Sendak a moment later--they were still standing in the middle of the ballroom. In front of the whole court.

“Stay quiet, and follow my lead,” Lotor whispered. 

He linked his arm through Sendak and turned to face the crowd, sweeping a bow. Sendak copied him hastily, straightening when Lotor did.

“Thank you all for coming!” Lotor shouted. “The royal family hopes you enjoy the rest of the dancing! Now, if you will excuse us--”

He wrapped his arm more tightly around Sendak’s waist and tugged, and Sendak went willingly--hurrying from the dance floor, pushing through the crowd, which parted like water about them. They reached the door in ticks, and the guards let them through without question. Lotor released Sendak’s waist then, took his hand instead, and then they were running down the empty corridors.

Lotor tugged at Sendak’s hand, pulling him into a nook, and slumped against the wall, panting, laughing almost nervously. Sendak couldn’t help chuckling in kind.

“I almost _ died _,” he gasped, and Lotor nodded.

“I’m so sorry, Sendak,” Lotor started. “There was an intruder alert at the cruiser, I was the only one available to attend to it--”

“And the druid replaced you--”

Lotor squeezed his hand, pulled him closer. His head came to rest against the center of Sendak’s chest. “I’m sorry. I should have been faster--I could have lost you. I can’t imagine…”

“It’s alright,” Sendak murmured, wrapping his arms more tightly around Lotor. “It’s alright. I’m fine. You saved my life.”

“And I would do it again a thousand times,” Lotor said. “I would shed every drop of my blood to see you safe.”

“You’d _ better _ not,” Sendak huffed. “I’m no fainting damsel, Lotor.”

Lotor grinned wryly. “No, you most certainly are not.” He reached up on tip-toe, pulling Sendak down for a kiss. “My bold warrior.”

Lotor’s hands pressed against his chest, and Sendak let himself be pushed against the wall, sinking just enough to let Lotor claim his mouth again--and again, and again, his kisses soft and fervent. Something jostled one of his cape pins. When Sendak broke the kiss and looked down, Lotor shot him an unabashed, toothy grin and unfastened it entirely, letting the garment slump askew.

“Somehow, I think there are better places for this than a hallway,” Sendak said, grinning back, and undid one of Lotor’s cape pins in return.

“And you would be right, as usual,” Lotor replied. He reached up and took one of Sendak’s hands, and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “My rooms or yours, darling?”

“Yours,” Sendak replied eagerly.

Lotor chuckled and laced their fingers together, then tugged gently at Sendak’s hand. “Come on, then.”

Something caught fire beneath Sendak’s sternum.

Lotor tugged gently at their conjoined hands, and a moment later they were racing down the halls. Sendak reveled in the emptiness--the lightness, the freedom, the air in his lungs after the weight of the whole court watching them. Lotor’s hand was warm in his, squeezing tightly, his claws just pressing against Sendak without breaking skin. His white braid whipped like a pennant behind him.

They skidded to a halt in front of the doors to the elevator, and Sendak barely had time to get through the doors before Lotor was kissing him again, savagely, his fangs nipping at Sendak’s lower lip. His back struck the wall a moment later. One of Lotor’s knees slotted between his thighs. The hand not clutching the fur at his jawline wandered over his neck, down his shoulder and the curve of his waist, and Sendak broke the kiss to squeak in surprise when Lotor squeezed his ass.

Lotor chuckled. “Something the matter?” he asked, eyes alight.

“Not in the slightest,” Sendak retorted, and caught Lotor by the waist to pull him in for another, deeper kiss.

The doors hissed open a moment later, and Lotor bundled him out into the apartments, fumbling eagerly with Sendak’s other cloak pin and letting the garment drop to the floor. Sendak’s heart leapt, and his hands trembled as he undid Lotor’s as well, letting Lotor bundle him down the hall towards his quarters as he undid the fastenings on Lotor’s breastplate to shove the armor to the floor.

Somehow, Lotor ignored the loud peal of metal on metal, stepping neatly over the fallen breastplate. His face pressed against Sendak’s chest a moment, nuzzling, his hands roving over Sendak’s waist, his hips, his thighs, each press of fingers setting him alight even through the cloth separating them. Sendak yanked the knot free on Lotor’s sash, and Lotor fumbled it out of his hands, whipping it about Sendak’s waist to pull him close, pressing and all but grinding against him. His breath came in hot, fierce pants, and it took Sendak a moment or two to realize he was panting as well.

They slammed against the wall beside a door, and Lotor pinned Sendak there, pressing his palm against the access pad. It beeped a tick or two later, and the door hissed open.

Lotor pulled his sash free and took a step back, and Sendak gasped, unexpectedly bereft.

“Lotor--” he began.

Lotor didn’t speak, but he offered Sendak his arm, brow cocked challengingly, as if daring him to take it and step through.

And Sendak, without a moment’s hesitation, did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There _is_ a smutty portion to this chapter--which I have excerpted out of consideration for both the pacing and for consideration towards people who don't want to slog through 5k+ of porn. That will be posted this evening, as the second fic in the series, and this chapter will be updated with a link upon posting.
> 
> Edit: the smut is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370601)


End file.
